The Labour And The Wounds
by Allegra
Summary: PART 13. Connor needs money and he's willing to risk his life to get it. Are Angel Investigations too busy with a case & an amnesiac Cordy to notice the dangers ahead for Angel's wayward son?
1. Chapter 1

THE LABOUR AND THE WOUNDS  
By Allegra  
  
RATING: 15 (UK) R (US)  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters but I thank Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt for creating the world of Angel for us all to illegitimately play with.   
NOTE: Set in the 4th series, in between the episodes 'Spin The Bottle' and 'Rain Of Fire' (formerly 'Apocalypse Nowish'). Cordelia has regained her memory, Wesley is sleeping with Lilah & Connor has been living alone.  
  
**********  
  
Connor jumped from the first floor window onto the damp tarmac, ignoring the puddle of water that was already starting to soak through the hole in his shoe. It was the result of a run-in with a demon who had acid for blood but that was a whole other story and the teenager had suffered worse. Angel had bought him several pairs of shoes on their first shopping spree but Connor didn't want to go back to the Hyperion hotel unless he absolutely had to. In fact, he'd rather risk stealing his footwear from under the watchful cameras in the Beverly Center than take what his so-called father could offer him.  
  
It was for that reason he was down a dark alley beside some dive bar in a seedy area of downtown Los Angeles. He needed money for more than just a change of boots and Connor was smart enough to know that no one was going to be around to bail him out if he ended up in the slammer for shoplifting. Fighting was what he enjoyed more than anything in the world and fighting was what he was just about to be paid to do.  
  
Back in the world he had called home, Holtz had given him free rein to work on his warrior skills and Connor had made good use of them since arriving back in this dimension. At first, he couldn't quite figure out was why everything had to be kept secret and clandestine, like his fighting ability was something to hide. Then, he'd seen the kind of society he'd been thrown into and his mind cleared. Humans were difficult to suss out. They hated violence though they worshipped it in the likes of Van Damme, Fight Club and Schwarzeneggar. They thrived on fear and terror by watching television documentaries about the world's worst killers, The Blair Witch Project and Hannibal Lecter. Yet, put all those things right in front of them and humans just couldn't deal with the issues anymore. Connor was learning now that people didn't take kindly to knowing he could break a guy's neck or had just saved the neighbourhood from being overrun by Vengor demons. It didn't make sense, just like most other aspects of this world.  
  
"Hey, kid. Nice moves." The gruff voice stepped out of the shadows, revealing its owner to be a man in his mid-forties with greasy grey hair that hung around his shoulders. A neatly trimmed beard framed thin lips and Connor could see several gold teeth flashing in his mouth. His bright, piercing brown eyes darted over the lean form of the teenager in front of him. The mouth snarled into an untrustworthy grin. "Not as stealthy as the other night but..." He shrugged and looked Connor squarely in the eye, "...it'll certainly make you a buck or two if you come with me."  
  
"I wouldn't be here otherwise," Connor countered. He had been somewhat irritated that someone had been watching him wrestling a vampire a few nights back. He had known someone was there but his attention was on the bloodsucker rather than some tramp in the darkness. He had just decapitated the vamp when the hollow sound of hands clapping reached his ears. This guy had emerged from the darkness of the trash heap, a cigarette balanced in the corner of his mouth. Connor had started to walk away, convinced that this was some drunkard who would forget everything he had seen by the morning. As it happens, he was wrong. This hobo went by the name of Fax Torrance and he was a man with a plan. A guy with deals to offer.  
  
"I'm glad you've decided to join me, kid."  
  
Connor chose not to give him a name in place of 'kid'. "I haven't...yet. Tell me the deal."  
  
Fax produced a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up, momentarily illuminating the deep lines of age on his face in a fiery glow. "You're sharp, kid. I like that. I can tell you're going to make us a lot of money."  
  
"Us?" Connor was intrigued but he knew this was not a man to be trusted. Still, he could take care of himself. Connor had met plenty worse than the likes of Fax Torrance down dark alleys at night. In fact, he inherited the genes of one. Whatever deal they struck here, it wasn't likely to be written in blood.  
  
Fax just smiled and delivered Connor a hard pat to the back. "Damn right, kid. Us."  
  
**********  
  
Cordelia wiped the sweat from her brow. She hated being hot and sticky, especially when the cause of it lay in the feather duster and bottle of polish she was holding. Ever since she had left Connor's den and returned to the Hyperion, she had developed a sudden sore throat. When no amount of cough syrup had done any good, Cordelia had realised how dirty the hotel was; every flat surface seemed to be covered with a fine layer of dust and grime. Since she was still getting used to the Cordelia Chase that had been missing for a while, her purpose at Angel Investigations had become unclear. For some reason, she had been sent back from the higher plane and it must have been for a better reason that just to kick demon butt until a natural death claimed her. Right now, there were feelings and memories that she desperately needed to sort out and Cordelia didn't feel much like jumping back into the fray. That meant it was getting harder to make valuable use of her time. Perhaps before the summer she could have just grabbed an axe from the cupboard and wielded her way into battle, but not anymore. She had to have a greater purpose back on this earth.   
  
She had burnt the candle well into the night scanning the pages of numerous encyclopaedias on demon breeds, hell dimensions, curses and torments. None seemed to apply to what had happened to her. Reading of the possible places she could have been sent, Cordy couldn't help but feel relieved to be back amongst earthlings, but the unanswered questions still burnt in her mind day and night. In the end, there was nothing left except cleaning. It gave her time to herself, to clear her thoughts and work things through.  
  
Still, domestic chores didn't come naturally to her. Cordelia had cast a duster over the place a few times in the past, but it was a skill that the upper crust of Sunnydale didn't often acquaint themselves with. Besides, there wasn't a lot of time for it when every day offered a new apocalypse to deal with.   
  
She snapped out of her reverie and the soothing motion of polishing the banisters when the door slammed. Fred and Gunn were standing on the steps of the lobby. "Wow, Fred. Are you sure we're in the right hotel?!" Gunn drawled, a smile spreading across his lips.  
  
Cordelia put down the cleaning utensils and flopped down on the bottom step of the staircase. "I know I've been gone for a while but I gotta ask... Were you ever going to clean this place? I don't think even that case of weapons could hold off the dust bunnies we were starting in here."  
  
Fred looked around sheepishly. "I guess things were always kind of, well, you know, busy, and then..."  
  
Gunn deftly argued the point on his girlfriend's behalf. "Hey, girl, we were fighting demons right, left and centre. Cleaning a hotel from top to bottom wasn't exactly high priority when we got home."  
  
Cordy raised her hands in mock defence. "Whatever. I just can't believe you didn't even call someone out to do it for you."  
  
"Well, if memory serves, you were always the one complaining that we don't ever get paying customers, so unless Domestic Services are cleaning for free these days, I don't think our budget would stretch to that. Besides, we've got you," Gunn grinned.   
  
Cordy opened her mouth to make another complaint and then thought better of it as the front door swung open and Angel appeared. She clamped her jaw shut, hoping he hadn't heard the tirade of whinging she had just inflicted on her colleagues. For a while, she had thought Angel had been her lover, but then the record had been set straight. She had even momentarily wondered if Connor was her child, but that had been cleared, too. Now, though, Cordelia's memories had returned in an overwhelming wave of tumult and she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to think. Angel had been kind of coy about the relationship they had shared before her disappearance but now she remembered that last night. She had been going to pour out her heart, tell him how much she loved him, fulfil him. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't fall back into his arms as if the whole summer had never happened. Neither could she ignore the fact that she had been made into a higher being, perhaps with a mission on earth beyond anything either of them could imagine.   
  
As if to make matters worse, Angel had been the picture of good manners and concern. He hadn't forced her, hadn't probed or even tried to get too close. It was as if he understood her confusion completely and didn't want to compound the problem. Still, it didn't help the unrestrained emotions Cordy felt whenever he was close to her. When he looked into her eyes with concerned sincerity, she was torn between hiding herself away in embarrassment and wanting him to kiss her hard and deep.   
  
"Cordy, you must have been working on this place for hours. It looks amazing." Angel's face was comforting. As he came nearer, she could see that his skin was flushed pink and she knew he had been feeding. Whether it was fresh from a bottle or not, it was a harsh reminder that the man, creature, she loved was so far from her. She had been a higher being, gilded with light, but he was shrouded in darkness, an animal with instincts to harm and murder. What harmony could they possibly find together?  
  
"Well, you know it's kind of a therapeutic. I'd recommend it. I'm sure the hotel would be pleased."  
  
Angel glanced at Fred and Gunn who took the hint and headed into the office. Sitting down on the sofa opposite, Angel's voice took on a more serious note. "Listen, Cordy. Whenever you're ready to come back to work, you know you can. I just thought you might appreciate a bit more time to get used to things. I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now, but if you need someone to talk to, someone who might understand what you've been going through..."  
  
"Thank you. I really do appreciate the support. You and Connor have been so wonderful through all this." Cordelia noticed how Angel recoiled a little at the mention of his son's name in the same breath as his own. "Things just didn't feel quite right with him...and now there's so much I've just got to work through for myself."  
  
Angel smoothed his hands over the knees of his trousers. "Hey, I'm just glad you felt you could trust him."  
  
Cordelia couldn't help but probe further. "You don't trust Connor?"  
  
"No, it's not that. I just meant I was glad you felt...safe."   
  
Nodding, Cordelia stood up. She could tell things were about to get a whole lot more awkward. Whatever had been between her and Angel, her decision to stay in Connor's loft had only made the grey area even greyer. "But you know what? Now this place is a bit cleaner, it's starting to feel like home."  
  
**********  
  
"This is the ring." Fax coiled his fingers through the wire mesh and leaned forward, fondly taking in the crude cage. "A lot of blood and sweat's been poured out here."  
  
Connor tried to ignore the stale smell of beer, vomit and other nameless odours swirling in the putrid atmosphere around them. "You fight in a cage? Why not in the open?"  
  
Fax laughed and slung a heavy, muscled arm around the teenager's shoulders. "I don't. You do, and you've got a lot to learn about boxing, kid. There are rules to be followed."  
  
Connor had a good idea of the kind of set-up he was about to encounter but he figured it was a good idea to play dumb for a while. "Rules? Like no hitting below the belt?"  
  
"That's right, 'cept here there aren't too many rules. The only rule is that one contender leaves the cage walking and the other on a stretcher. There ain't no round one in this kind of fighting. You're either in or you're out." He eyed Connor, as if expecting him to turn tail and run. He could still barely believe that this scrawny boy had fought so skilfully back in that alley. There was definitely something decidedly unhuman about him and Fax was looking forward to seeing what stops the kid pulled out in the heat of battle.  
  
"Do we get weapons?" Connor asked, innocently.  
  
"Nothing but your bare hands, kid. Now, do you got a name or should I just call you kid?" Fax probed. He had gained enough experience in his career to know when to push and when to let sleeping dogs lie, but this scrap of a boy had fired his interest. Not only would the hook bring in the punters in their droves but there was something instantly mesmerising about the way the kid fought.   
  
Like lightning, he had watched Connor bring down a gang of twelve vamps, the second staked before the first victim's ash had even settled. His eyes glowed with feral hunger for the kill and each death did not sate his thirst but rather fed his appetite. His prowess was unsurpassed; there was none of the clumsiness of a demon killing, no strange protrusions or unnatural appendages. The kid moved with all the grace of an ancient vampire yet he was not. He was warm, he bled, he breathed, he sweated. Blood pumped naturally in those deep veins and Fax Torrance desperately wanted to know more.  
  
"Call me whatever you want. I just want to fight...make money." Connor moved slowly around the cage, looking it over with hawk-like precision. "It's just the two of us in there? No referee?"   
  
"No referee. It's blood money you'll be getting here...if you win, that is." Fax watched his protégé circle back round to where he was standing, like a lion closing in on its prey. The hairs began to stand up on the back of his neck as Connor halted in front of him. An unhealthy glow burned in those youthful eyes as he leaned in close to the older man. "Oh, I'll win. Don't doubt that." Fax said nothing. The kid might make him feel uneasy but there was no question as to who was in charge here. The boy might have talent but he was as green as they came. Fax was the lion tamer here; he held the cattle prod and the meat.  
  
Connor's eyes drifted towards the lists of contenders on the board behind Fax's head. He nodded towards them, "Those my opponents?"  
  
Fax glanced at the torn sheet of paper. "Some. Some didn't quite make the cut, if you know what I mean. When do you want me to sign you up for?"  
  
Connor looked him square in the face, determination etched there. "Tonight."  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART ONE - HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! I JUST WANTED CONNOR TO GET A DECENT LOOK-IN ON SOME STORYLINES. I'D LOVE TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF IT :) 


	2. Chapter 2

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS  
By Allegra  
  
NOTE : I have amended bits of Part One because, having just seen 'Spin The Bottle', I realised I couldn't feasibly set this story between 'Slouching Towards Bethlehem' & 'Supersymmetry', so instead, this story is set between 'Spin The Bottle' and 'Rain Of Fire' (formerly 'Apocalypse Nowish'). Basically, the changes are to the scenes with Cordy, so you might (not) want to re-read that part :)  
  
See Part 1 for all other disclaimers, notes etc.  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
**********  
  
"You're out of your mind. We'll have the police on our backs before the fight's even begun." Cole Ferguson was getting cold feet about this whole deal. He had always known if he ever made it out of Arkansas he would get into trouble. Los Angeles had turned into a whole heap of trouble that he just couldn't get clear of. It didn't help that his demon face had a habit of rearing itself at the strangest of occasions. His mother used to make him practise in the basement, turning it on and off at will rather than randomly. It figured that the only place he'd ever be accepted was in the criminal underground of the city of angels. At least he wasn't the only demon. Hundreds thronged to the basement on Kneppler Street every night to take part and bet on the show of a life time. It had seemed like a great deal at the time - food and board in exchange for a little crowd control and money lending beside the ring. Then again, all good things come to an end and Cole could see this happening sooner than he'd hoped.  
  
Fax Torrance, the big boss man, leaned back in his battered leather chair. "Take it easy, Cole. It's just another contender."  
  
"Yeah, but it's a kid! A human, Fax! I thought the deal was we don't kill innocents. It's not much of a sport when they get ripped limb from limb in the first five minutes. It puts people off, you know."  
  
"Relax, Cole. He ain't human." Fax's mind was already on his new publicity angle - The Kid versus Bolgar the Bloody. He chewed absently on his pencil, occasionally jotting down ideas for eye-catching headlines. The crowd were going to love this.  
  
Cole paused in his pacing in front of the desk, letting his heart slowly calm to a more natural pace. "He's not human? Well, why didn't you say so? Jeez, you know how to scare a guy."  
  
"I don't know what he is, but he sure as hell ain't human. There's something in him, some demon entity or something. I dunno, but it's going to be fun finding out."  
  
Cole felt his heart speeding up once more. Had Fax lost his mind? "Man, you don't know what he is?! We've got policies, you know. You can't just stick him in a ring and wait for tentacles to pop out of his head or poison darts to shoot from his knuckles! No one's going to get in that ring with him unless everything's up front. You know that!"  
  
Fax shrugged as if none of this mattered an ounce to him. "Cole, give me a break here, it's been a long day and it's going to be a long night. I've got publicity to prepare."  
  
"You're letting this 'kid' fight tonight? Great, another riot on our hands." Cole put his hands firmly on the desk, forcing Fax to give him his full attention. "People and demons alike don't like this kind of thing. You've got to build him up, give him some time to get the crowd's interest. They'll flay him alive if you send him in there raw like this."  
  
Fax sighed wearily. "Oh, god damn it, Cole! Which is it, 'coz I sure as hell can't tell? Are you worried about the crowd or the fighters? You're forgetting the fundamental reason why folks gather here. They want a fight and they want blood, in the name of sport. Now, all it takes is one willing contender to go up against this kid and we're away. Now, scat! Go get in the beer for the night or we really will have a riot."  
  
Recognising a lost argument when he saw it, Cole slouched out of the office, muttering under his breath.  
  
**********  
  
"Angel. I hate to interrupt but...we've got kind of a situation." Fred dug her hands into her pockets and rolled her eyes meaningfully towards the office.   
  
Angel gave her a blank expression in return. He had spent the evening chatting to Cordelia about pretty much everything that came to mind. She had been eager to piece together some of the jigsaw that had lately become her life and the time had just flown by. As he glanced towards the window, he was surprised to see how dark it had become. "A situation?" he asked bluntly.  
  
Fred nodded, fiercely, and Angel slowly began to cotton on to what she was saying. Getting so comfortable again with Cordelia had almost made him forget that she was still struggling to come to terms with this shadowy life. Fred was just trying to save her from some of the more grizzly bits.   
  
Cordelia, however, had other ideas. "You know, you can just say it, Fred. I'm not as fragile as you might think. I do remember all this stuff, I'm just not sure I'm ready to face it again quite yet. Just because I kicked my amnesia and have to deal with my higher purpose in this world isn't a reason for you guys to tiptoe around! Although, now I say it,...." Cordy looked Fred's sheepish face and lowered her hysterical tone to a pitch humans could hear. "Besides, I can take care of myself. Connor reminded me of some of my kick-ass skills when we were out and I..."  
  
Angel couldn't contain himself. "Connor was teaching you to fight?!"  
  
Cordelia chose to ignore the incredulous interruption. "As I said, more 'reminding' me. All the staking, kicking, hurting.... So, you really don't need to shelter me so much anymore. I guess I'm still adjusting but, hey, a girl's gotta earn her keep, right? I can still throw a punch every now and again."  
  
Angel tried to hide his concern and fascination with what had gone on behind closed doors between Cordelia and his son. It was hard enough that she had chosen to live with someone else for a while but it was so much worse when that person was the very one who had betrayed him and sunk him to the bottom of the ocean. He cared about Cordelia, very much, and Connor knew it. It was like another chance to twist the knife in Angel's unbeating heart.  
  
Fred's shoulders slumped into an obvious sign of relief. "So that means you want to know the sitch?" Cordelia nodded. "Oh, well, okay. Angel, you know that funny, bile eating demon you used to hang out with?"   
  
Angel cleared his throat uncertainly, noticing the disgusted expression crossing Cordelia's face. "Um, well, we didn't exactly hang out. He was a contact, more of an acquaintance really..."  
  
Fred wasn't being to quick on the uptake. "You told me you used to play cards with him all the time."  
  
Angel frowned, pretending to cast his mind back over all the many benevolent demons he had encountered in his life. "Oh, right, yes, I remember now! Called himself Brian. He never did like the sound of his demon name."  
  
Fred shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well, I'm really sorry to tell you this, but Brian's dead."  
  
All embarrassment melted away with the 'd' word. "Dead?"  
  
Fred pulled a torn page of the newspaper out of her back pocket and thrust it into Angel's hands. "Yeah, he's in a side column of today's paper. I figured you'd want to know, him being demon and all."  
  
Cordelia tried to forget her own horror at the images conjured up on Angel exchanging bile-covered cards as some scaly, horned demon coughed up phlegm balls in some seedy joint. She rubbed Angel's back soothingly. "I'm sorry, Angel."  
  
While he was enjoying the light touch of her fingers along his spine, Angel's mind was already on work. "It says here that he wasn't the only casualty. Two men were killed, too. The police say there were unidentified liquid deposits found on the ground at the scene."  
  
Cordelia's brow furrowed in concentration. "So what does that mean?"  
  
Fred's eyes widened and she pushed her glasses further up her nose. "It means we've got a case."  
  
Angel stood up, scanning the brief article once more. "A column in the paper, two human casualties. Most demons are more careful that that; they like to keep to the shadows. I get the feeling there's more here than meets the eye."  
  
Cordelia nodded, trying to convince herself that she understood the implications of all this. "Right, so...that means it's a job for Angel Investigations!"  
  
Angel smiled absently at her, his mind racing with possible leads to follow up on. "Fred, you and Gunn pull up anything you can find on the incident. Past records, history of the victims, addresses, the lot. I'll check out some of local hang-outs, see if I can find anything of use." He glanced at Cordelia. "Cordy, maybe you should rest a bit. I know you're up for this, but there's really nothing solid yet. I'm sure we could use you a bit later." Cordelia opened her mouth to protest but the pair were already out of the door and halfway down the corridor. Forlornly, she sighed, "Right! Yes, good plan. I'll just...stay here."  
  
**********  
  
DON'T WORRY, I PROMISE THE CONNOR FIGHT IS COMING SOON! HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING IT. ANY FEEDBACK OR SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOMED. 


	3. Chapter 3

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS  
By Allegra  
  
Thank you to everyone who has so kindly reviewed my story. It is really encouraging & makes it so much more exciting to write. In answer to one question, yes, Wesley will have a part to play in all this, he's just biding his time. He'll probably make an appearance in the next chapter.   
  
I hope you enjoy this part & please let me know what you think. I'd love to get some feedback from you all :)  
  
See Part 1 for all other disclaimers, notes etc.  
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
The hours had dripped by like Japanese water torture. Connor had been trying to prepare himself for the night's events, psyche himself up for the thrill of the fight. Somehow, this felt different. He was aware something he would have identified as panic if it had been a word he'd understood or experienced. In fact, to a more human individual, his behaviour - hand-wringing and pacing - would have been classic signs of anxiety and even fear. Connor didn't know this. He wasn't familiar with either of those sensations. He only knew the adrenaline rush as a demon ran at him, the satisfying wrench as he plunged a stake into its chosen heart or the whoosh of metal meeting the jugular. So, why wasn't he looking forward to this night? For the first time since being returned from Quor'tah to this miserable dimension, Connor actually felt like he didn't want to fight.   
  
"You're on, kid." Fax Torrance's head appeared around the door of the office. "You ready?" Connor wasn't sure whether he was ready or not. He sure as hell didn't feel like it. Drawing himself up to his full height, his voice sounded strained. "I'm ready." He pushed past Fax and marched down the corridor as if he owned the place. As he approached the door at the end, he could hear voices shouting, the sheer volume enough to burst a man's ear drums. Then, as Connor's ears adjusted, the shouting separated into a rhythm. They were chanting. They were chanting his name. "Bring us the Kid! The Kid! The Kid!" It was hard to identify at first, demon voices mingled with the precise human calls of his native language. High-pitched wails fell in with the trill of another demon species which in turn merged with the gruff tones of yet another. Then, dimly, Connor could make out a voice which rose above the rest. He recognised the voice of Fax's business associate, Cole. He was spurring the crowd on, firing their blood lust. He ran through a list of adjectives that Connor would need a dictionary to identify.   
  
Connor's heart was pounding in his chest, speeding up with every step he took. He could feel the blood thumping in his temples, the sweat prickling down his back and in his palms as he reached out for the door handle. Fax's hand closed over his, dragging him back. "Wait, kid! He's larging you up! You gotta wait for your entrance."  
  
The teenager's instincts told him to shove Fax's hand away and get on with it, but sense told him to follow the man's lead. He didn't understand any of this, didn't understand the way it worked. He thought he was here to fight. He didn't know the etiquette and rules. It was fight to the death. That was all he needed to know.  
  
Suddenly, the ringing in his head stopped and Fax gripped his shoulder, tightly. "Right, kid. Now, you're on. Let them have a piece of you!" He swung open the door and Connor squinted into the bright, white light focused on the entrance. He put a hand up to shield himself from the glare and took one step into the room. Silence had descended on the room and, even blinded, Connor could feel their eyes upon him.  
  
As he moved out of the spotlight, Connor's eyes tracked along the first line of spectators. Demon and human alike stared back, inquisitive, accusing, expectant. As he approached the ring, prepared to meet his opponent, the first jeer went up from somewhere in the ranks. "Hey, what is this?! We didn't come here to see a baby being torn apart! Come on, Cole, there ain't nothing to him! This ain't no show."  
  
Cole raised a hand in protest, "Hey, you ain't seen nothing yet! Give him a chance! I'm telling you, people, this kid is the real deal. You'd better watch your back because he walks among you!" He turned and winked at Connor as he climbed into the cage. If the teenager was reassured, he made no show of it. His eyes looked dead, like he had already locked down his emotions for the night. He was a lion hungry for the kill. But Cole couldn't help the shiver of concern he felt. What was he thinking? This was no lion, he was a cub at best, a whelp. He inched closer to Connor's corner of the ring and lowered his voice, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, kid? There's still time to back out, you know. No one'll think any less of you."  
  
Connor turned a cold gaze upon the host. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Taking the response as a refusal to bow out gracefully, Cole shrugged and began his introduction to the fight. The teenager had missed his adversary's build-up and his face was half cast in shadow on the opposite side of the ring. Whatever it was, it was big. Connor started to size the creature up - big usually meant slow and speed was of the essence. Big usually meant tough so he'd have to find a weak point, possibly in the head region or loins. The teenager's mind slowly shifted focus from 'fight or flight' to strategy. Things were just starting to get challenging again. He had made it through the rigmarole of preparation, waiting and introduction. Now the show was about to start and he knew what he had to do.  
  
Within a few moments, the lights dimmed until the only illumination was directed on the centre of the cage. Gradually, the spotlight separated into two and drifted across the cage to the two rivals' respective corners. The demon was brought forth from obscurity into the broad light and Connor could see exactly what he was facing. A Vahrall demon.  
  
**********  
  
Angel moved slowly down the street, dragging his feet a little. If the truth be told, he was grateful to be outside the hotel for a while. Even in a place that size, a guy could start to feel like the walls were sliding inwards. Since Cordelia had regained all memory of who she was, his world had got a little stranger. Until that last night before her disappearance, their feelings for each other had been kept guarded. Occasionally, there were flashes of electricity that alerted them to the chemistry between them, but they had never acted on it, well, except for that one time.... Anyway, the point was that he was getting increasingly confused. Cordy was back and she remembered that they were in love, but had she changed her mind? She was distant.   
  
They had both been through so much since that night. Angel certainly knew he didn't want to go back and relive it. Maybe if Cordelia had been there when Wesley had released him, he'd have opened up to her, but not now. It was an unfortunate chapter of his unfortunate existence that she hadn't been a part of and, in truth, Angel wasn't sure he wanted her to know. It might just make her sympathetic and then there'd be another emotion to get confused over.  
  
Shoving all thoughts of Cordelia aside for a moment, Angel descended the narrow staircase into The Hole where the beat pumped hard and loud. He made his way through the crowds of demons, some dancing, some drinking, some just chatting up the ladies. His dark eyes darted around the room, looking for some familiar faces. Boy, it had been a long time since he'd been down here. Finally, his eyes lighted on the barman and he pushed his way to the counter.  
  
"Hey, Ty! What's up, man?" He tried to sound as casual and un-detective-like as possible.  
  
Tyler, a Forlasch demon with conspicuously sharp but completely harmless blue horns, sauntered up the bar. "Hey, Angel! Long time no see. How's life above ground? You still got that soul of yours?"  
  
Angel nodded, "Yep. I like a low profile."  
  
Ty poured him a shot of tequila and pushed it across the counter. "You're telling me. No one's heard a word on you since the last apocalypse scare. But, for what it's worth, I like you with a soul." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. "I don't want to ruin my cred as a tough guy, but there are days when I just don't feel like eating kittens for dinner, you know? Just give me a Chinese take-away and I'm happy as Larry."  
  
Angel laughed. "Your secret's safe with me." He glanced up and down the bar, checking who might be in hearing range. "Listen, Ty, have you seen Brian lately?"  
  
Ty's face fell into a mask of solemnity. "Didn't you hear? Brian's dead. Took a blade through the fryer. We always used to joke he had shit for brains. Guess there must have been more up top than we gave him credit for."  
  
Angel feigned ignorance. "That's too bad. How did it happen?"  
  
Ty stepped back, eyeing Angel suspiciously. "Are you on the case now then? Listen, Angel, watch your back, man. People haven't been taking too kindly to the rumours about your demon-hunting job. There your own kind, man. If you're going to take revenge for Brian, go ahead, but don't say I didn't warn you."  
  
Angel knocked back his tequila. "Hey, you telling me you've met a demon who doesn't stab his friends in the back? That'd be a first. Besides, it pays the bills." He saw Ty visibly relax and continued. "Can't a guy just ask how his old buddy met such a horrible death?"  
  
Ty sighed, "Yeah, Brian was a good bud, wasn't he?" For a moment his eyes glazed over with memories of better times. Snapping out of it, he said, "I wish I could give you a good story, Angel, but truth is Brian got mixed up with the wrong sort, if you know what I'm saying. It was a hazard of the job, I guess. What goes around comes around. He did some pretty mean stuff in his time."  
  
Angel nodded acknowledgement. "Yeah. Thanks, Ty." He stood to leave.  
  
Ty exclaimed, "You're going already!?"  
  
Angel began to push his way towards the door and called back. "It was good to see you again," but made no commitment. These were people he wanted to keep on side but didn't really want to get involved with again.  
  
**********  
  
Connor circled the Vahrall demon with all the menace of a practised predator, precisely sizing up the capabilities of his foe and planning his first move. The demon seemed to be doing the same and, for a moment, the pair made no attempts to place a blow until finally the Vahrall lunged for the teenager. Connor deftly dodged the scaly fist aimed at his face and ducked in time to land a punch to the demon's gut.   
  
The teenager began to tune out the shouts of the crowd, ignoring the conflicting voices that had already chosen who would win the fight. Even then, he could still tell the majority was rooting for the demon. Connor couldn't blame them; he could picture the view from their side of the mesh fence, but it only made his blood run higher. He would prove them wrong, prove that this 'kid' was better than any scabby demon breed they could throw at him.   
  
Fired by this new flame of passion, Connor threw all his energies into bringing this demon down. It felt strange not to have a weapon in his hand for aid, but he could still do it. He had the guts, the speed, and God knows he had the strength. Running at his aggressor, Connor shifted course minutely, grabbing the mesh behind the demon and using it to lever himself into a high backward flip. Flying through the air, he landed squarely in front of the Vahrall, taken completely unawares. He clasped both hands together and brought them down with full force onto the demon's head, directly between the horns. It was weak point in most species, the idea being that no one would get close enough to such an area before being impaled.   
  
The Vahrall emitted a roar of pain and anger, his eyes suddenly glowing bright red in the smoky, dim room. Connor backed into his own corner, ready to lever himself out of the head butt he was anticipating. He whispered encouragement under his breath, "Come on, come on!" He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the blood pumping fast like a drug penetrating every cell of his body and only impelling him to take the fight to another level. This was just starting to get fun.   
  
As expected, the demon ran him, head angled ready to impale Connor on those sharp horns. The teenager prepared to twist his body to the side at the last minute, effectively trapping himself between the horns. He had a plan to hold the Vahrall caught in the wire mesh, giving him time to attack the sensitive parts of his head, unhindered. But the devil had seen the plan coming. Shifting direction at the last moment, one horn caught the youngster in the ribs as he turned to avoid the onslaught.   
  
Connor stifled a cry of pain, the shock forcing the air out of his lungs in a sudden rush. The demon was caught in the mesh as he had hoped, but so was he by the knife-like protusion on its head. The teenager could feel the heat of his own blood already welling in the wound and, with the Vahrall writhing against the cage, the pain was only made worse as the flesh was wrenched this way and that.  
  
Hitching in a breath despite the sting it caused, Connor squeezed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself free of the horn, leaving some of his own flesh behind. He used the Vahrall's head to ease himself up and out from the space in which he was trapped and slid over its scaled back, landing firmly on his feet. Determined to finish the fight properly, he kicked the demon solidly between the legs, forcing the creature to its knees with a holler of pain. Moving to its head, Connor climbed the mesh with all the skill of a monkey swinging through branches and positioned himself directly over the Vahrall's head.  
  
Seeing it writhing beneath him, caught in the wires, he took a moment to survey the scene of his glory. All eyes were turned on him, some were masks of amazement that this human-like creature could wield such power, while others bore hatred to hide their fear. A few still shouted the demon's name, trying to will him back from the brink of defeat. Connor felt a smug grin settle on his lips, the satisfaction of knowing success in the eyes of strangers. So few ever saw his talents, not even the people he saved from miserable fates down dark alleys at night. Finally, he was reaping the rewards.  
  
Dropping down onto the demon still languishing beneath him, Connor drove each foot into each of the horns, letting the creature drop, unmoving to the floor. Vibrant orange liquid oozed from the two wounds and Connor yanked the horns free of the mesh, holding them like trophies above his head.  
  
The crowd cheered, their benevolent voices carrying to the teenager's ears like blessed prayers. Money was changing hands at the end of the fight like there was no tomorrow, most going home empty handed after the unexpected win. Connor was victorious and, even better, he was going to be rich.  
  
Cole stepped into the cage and held Connor's arm aloft, declaring him the winner of the match, asking people to think carefully before placing their bets the next fight, revelling in the glory of the crowd's ignorance. This was one win they hadn't seen coming.   
  
From his vantage point at the back of the room, Fax scrutinised the young hero. Blood oozed from the wound in Connor's side, but he did not even flinch when Cole yanked his arm over his head in a winner's cheer. The kid's face was radiant with a child-like delight at the reaction he was receiving. Fax liked it. It meant there was enthusiasm and that always made his job easier. There was no doubt about it, this kid was made of a metal stronger than any of his previous contenders. He could see the hunger for a fight in his eyes. There was money to be made here and lots of it.  
  
As he pushed his way back towards his own office to count the night's takings, Fax listened to the snippets of conversation as he passed. All were stunned at their losses - the Vahrall demon had seemed a certain win against that slip of a child. Still, they were certainly going to think more carefully about how they placed their bets next time; they'd come back for more any night this kid was fighting. Fax even enjoyed a few pats on the back as he shuffled through the crowd. Oh no, he wasn't going to let this kid slip through his fingers.  
  
**********  
  
END OF CHAPTER 3  
  
Next part coming soon! 


	4. Chapter 4

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS  
By Allegra  
  
Thank you to everyone for being so patient! My computer was sort of borrowed with all my unfinished chapters on, but it's back home with momma now & she's churned out another chapter :) I hope you like it. Please, please review for me. I really want to know what you think of it.  
  
See Part 1 for all other disclaimers, notes etc.  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
**********  
  
"Where did you find this kid? I mean, I take back everything I said earlier. Whatever he's got, it's magic and it's gonna take him far, man. He's a sure winner every time. The whole fight was like the fucking ballet, man, effortless!"  
  
Fax was busy counting his winnings, a happiness warming his hear that he hadn't experienced in a long time. Connor had put his faith back into the notion that he'd one day be richer than Tom Cruise. He'd be able to buy that Beverly Hills mansion in a heartbeat and talk about how he met Cameron Diaz in the Skybar on Sunset. "Yeah, he's the real deal, that's for sure. But let's not jump the gun just yet, Cole. See how he fights tomorrow."  
  
Cole paused in his pacing in front of the boss's desk. "Tomorrow? You forgetting the rules already, Fax? No one plays two consecutive nights. It brings down their game. They haven't recovered enough."  
  
Fax stared his colleague in the face. "You think that kid needs more than a day's rest? You can see it in his face, he's gagging for it. Besides, if we're going to put money on him, we need to know what it takes for him to perform well."  
  
Cole did not reply, uncertainty tainting his usually friendly, open face. Fax turned on the charm and allowed a huge grin to spread across his lips. He held out a wad of crumpled green paper. "Here, see if this can put a smile back on your face. You and I are going to be rich, brother."  
  
Cole took the money and deftly counted it. A look of incredulity was quickly replaced with sheer joy. "My God, man! I could take a holiday to Barbados on this!"  
  
Fax pulled his box of Cuban cigars from the bottom drawer. He saved these for truly special occasions and this was certainly one of them. Clipping the end and puffing it alight with a match, he divided the remaining money into two deeply uneven piles and shoved the larger into his jacket pocket. "Get that kid in here. He's got winnings to collect."  
  
**********  
  
Wesley Wyndham-Price turned over in the bed, trying to evade the pungent scent of Lilah's perfume. It assailed his nostrils, supplying a constant reminder of their 'relationship' as she had deigned to call it. Wesley didn't know who he hated more - Lilah for dragging him into her world or himself for letting her. Their arrangement had been just that - an arrangement - until recently. The day she had started buying him expensive gifts and dressing up to please him had changed all that. Wesley was careful never to reciprocate. He refused to give any more of himself up to that devious witch. She had wrung enough out of him already.  
  
There were up-sides to their meetings, though. Wesley was starting to learn more about the secret machinations of Wolfram and Hart. Lilah Morgan might play her cards close to her chest, but Wesley was practised enough to notice the times when she slipped up. He wasn't sure how much she trusted him but he sure as hell didn't trust her. Even as they lay side by side in bed, her thighs pressed up against his back, they were playing a game of cat and mouse. It was only a matter of time before things got ugly and Wesley could feel it coming.  
  
When Angel Investigations had made it clear that his services were no longer required, he had lost all interest in saving the day. He felt betrayed and his heart was bitter. There wasn't enough emotion left inside him to spare for helping anyone else. Lilah had set her traps just when he was at his most vulnerable and Wesley had fallen duly into them. He had shown no interest in her company or the underhand dealings she planned. Now, though, Wes could barely keep his fingers from prying whenever they went to her apartment. He found the urges to uncover her schemes increasingly frequent and unstoppable. Lilah was a smart woman and it wouldn't take her long to figure out what he was up to. In fact, Wesley wouldn't be surprised if she already knew.  
  
Huddling down under the bedclothes in an attempt to drown out the smell of her, Wesley closed his eyes once more and tried to rest. Today was a new day and the parameters of his relationship with Lilah were about to be altered again.  
  
**********  
  
Connor climbed the last rung of the ladder into the loft he had come to call home. His body ached, more than it had in a long time. It was different when you were fighting without weapons, fighting for an audience. He had noticed the way the crowd's roar swelled when he made certain moves or threw certain punches. He was learning fast about this dimension and its strange customs. In Quor'toth there had been no prize for killing demons, true there was pleasure in it, but not in a sense that it was followed by recognition. Yet here, in Los Angeles, men and demon alike traded money over these scraps and Connor had made a lot of it.  
  
He threw himself limply onto the bed, pulling the green paper out of his back pocket and thumbing through the notes. He hadn't bothered to check how much Fax had given him for his troubles, anything seemed like enough. If the truth be told, Connor was still having trouble understanding the value of material objects in this world. A celebrity's signature could fetch hundreds of dollars, as could dead animal cells injected into a person's lips, but then food was cheap and clothes. There had not even been clothes to buy in Quor'toth. Connor was surprised to realise he must have made at least a hundred bucks out of one fight and it was money he desperately needed.  
  
There had been a time when he had simply stolen goods from one shop after another. It had seemed the only way. He didn't understand how anything worked, how one got this 'money' to pay for things, so it left only one option. He had quickly realised that demons took many forms. Men in uniforms with badges began to chase him, cameras with all-seeing eyes tracked his every move. It became harder and harder to hunt effectively. Now, Connor was beginning to accept that he would have to adapt to his new environment rather than make it work for him.  
  
Connor quickly stuffed the dollar notes into the gap beneath his mattress, thinking it was a pretty crafty place to hide it. Closing his eyes, he slowly tried to help his mind drift away from his aching limbs, allow the last drops of adrenaline to run their course, and gradually let him drift off to sleep.  
  
**********  
  
"Any luck?" Fred enquired, lightly, her southern accent lilting across the lobby.  
  
Angel shook his head and wandered into the office. "Sounds like Brian got lost on the wrong side of the track. Maybe I was just reaching."  
  
Cordelia's face popped up from behind her computer monitor. "Or maybe not. I dug through the archives and there's a bunch of newspaper reports all identifying strange activity in this one area of downtown..."  
  
Angel looked at her, startled, before interrupting. "Cordy! I wasn't expecting you to help out. That is, I mean, you don't have to get involved again so soon. All this stuff must seem pretty trivial right now."  
  
Cordelia adopted her matronly expression and glared at him. "I'm done with the moping, for now anyway, and I just want to get back to normal. I figured the answers to my extra-mortal existence aren't going to appear from staring at the four walls of my room. Besides, who knows, something might just trigger off some new powers while we're in the field. Remember that time I went all glowy on Connor? No one saw that coming, huh?" By the time she had finished her excuse, even Angel was convinced. Cordelia seemed happy again, at least ready to make jokes again.  
  
Angel smiled, "So what did you find?"  
  
Cordelia flashed through a few screens on the internet. "Well, they're all coming from the same area as where Brian was killed. It's got to be worth checking out, right?"  
  
Fred snapped closed the huge volume she was perusing. "Yay to that. I'm all out of steam with this baby. There's something about the structure of ancient Vondorian that just doesn't work for me. I mean, how can the same prefix be both a noun, a verb and an antonym?"  
  
Angel and Cordelia stared at her blankly for a moment. "I'll just get some weapons."  
  
"Are we all going?" Cordy asked.   
  
Angel turned, his face falling into serious lines. She knew what he was about to say, but Gunn sloped down the stairs. "I saw yes. If there's enough demon activity for the newspapers to run a decent story, I say we might find ourselves up against a scout troupe of demons, in which case we're going to need all the hands we got."  
  
Cordelia quickly seconded that. She didn't like to admit it but right now she just really wanted to vent some pent-up frustration and, in her line of work, that meant killing something, not a trip to Crunch gym.  
  
Gunn grabbed his favourite axe and spun it deftly in his hand. "Let's go get us some demon booty!"  
  
**********  
  
END OF CHAPTER 4  
  
Next chapter - Angel finds Connor (I promise) 


	5. Chapter 5

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS   
By Allegra  
  
See Part One for all notes & disclaimers.  
  
Thank you to all the lovely, fantastic people who have reviewed for me. It means so much & it really keeps me in writing mode. And especially for Ivorycat, I've tried to incorporate some more Gunn. I'm keeping things a bit ensemble/Connor focused at the moment, but I promise he'll get a decent look-in.  
  
**********  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
"This place is as dead as ditch water," Fred whispered. The lack of demon activity still did nothing for her confidence though, and she clung to Gunn's arm with one hand while the other gripped her crossbow with whitened knuckles. She had grown used to the violence and frights that living in Angel's world threw up but having a big, strong boyfriend always made her feel that bit safer.   
  
Gunn's eyes darted around the darkened space ahead of them. "Would you mind not holding my arm so tight? It's cutting off my circulation."  
  
Fred quickly released him. "Sorry, you're just like a really big comfort blanket, not to mention a very cushy shield."  
  
Gunn gave her a sloping smile. "You saying you want me to get hurt for you?"  
  
Fred giggled, "Well, you know I like a guy with big, manly scars."  
  
Angel's voice hissed, "Can you guys leave the foreplay until you get back to the hotel?" The chastised couple looked at each other sheepishly and moved on. Angel let his vampire senses kick in, his nostrils inhaling the pungent smells of the underground. There was a lingering scent of cigarette ash and the putrid stench of unwashed bodies. Angel halted. "There were definitely people here. I can smell them."  
  
Gunn dropped his guard. "You know, the whole brooding vampire thing might seduce some women, but I think you'd better keep your sniffer dog skills to yourself, man." He made a cursive glance around. "So, people were here. Don't you think it's much more likely they'd be bums and drug dealers than demons?"  
  
Fred backed him up, "It does look pretty...normal, well, for the back streets of LA anyway. No strange ritual symbols carved into the floors and walls, no traces of human entrails. I'd say we've come up with nada."  
  
Angel had to reluctantly agree. He desperately wanted to have a reason to be out on the streets, to have something to pummel. He was getting restless and staying at the hotel was getting harder by the moment. With the old Cordelia back, their relationship had become even more strained. Before, there had been a strange sexual tension lingering, but now she had had the widescreen, technicolour version of his life...not just the Angel part either. She had watched and felt everything he had done as Angelus. Angel could still remember the torture of reliving those memories when his soul had been returned. How could he possibly expect her to want him after seeing the demon inside him? No matter what sort of man he was now, that dark creature was still curled up inside him, waiting for pure love to unleash it. He couldn't ask her to commit to that. Once again, the parameters of their relationship had changed and, before their love could even begin, it had been snatched away and replaced with uncertainty and distance.  
  
"Fine. Let's go home. There's nothing here." He sheathed the sword he had been carrying and headed back the way they had come, leaving Fred and Gunn to follow.  
  
**********  
  
His second night at the ring had not gone so well for Connor. Fax had conjured up a strange demon he had never seen before, not in Quor'toth and not in any book. It had possessed a strength completely beyond the average demon and, despite his agility, without weapons Connor had to fight with all his might to stave the creature off.   
  
Every muscle in his body ached, he could still feel the damp stickiness of blood congealing under his shirt. His head pounded like a thousand soldiers were marching through his head. It hurt to think and feel. The teenager began to use a tactic he had learned in the darkness of Quor'toth, drawing his thoughts inwards upon themselves. Like a black hole, his subconscious folded matter over and over until there was nothing left to make coherent thought with. His mind recoiled from any urge to count his earnings or even consider which dark alley he might have strayed into. Connor's ever alert senses grew sluggish and tired. It was all he could do to make the climb back to the loft.  
  
He leaned heavily against the door frame, surveying the small space. Some of Cordelia's belongings still lay where she had left them, scarves as makeshift table cloths and items of clothing. What he would give to have her there with him once more, to soothe the pain and ease his troubled sleeps.  
  
Sitting down on a cargo box, he unlaced his shoes and tossed them haphazardly into the corner of the room. As he did so, Connor caught sight of something moving in the shadows. Gathering all his remaining strength and awakening his dulled senses, he called out, "Who's there?" At first there was no answer and the teenager slid a small knife from the nearest shelf.   
  
"It's just me."   
  
Connor looked more startled than relieved to see his father emerge from the darkness. "What do you want?" he rallied, defensively. Normally it would be a small relief to see Angel rather than some demon to battle, but not tonight. Tonight, the questions would be worse.   
  
Angel was about to answer his son but his words caught in his throat when Connor shifted into the beam of moonlight shafting through the window. His face bore an array of mottled bruises and cuts, some of which were already healing rapidly. Nevertheless, they shouldn't have existed at all. "My God, Connor, what happened?" He strode towards his son, forcing his chin up hard into the light.  
  
Connor deflected, ashamed to let his invincible elder see the marks of defeat on his skin. It was bad enough that the wretched demon had almost done him out of a night's pay but the humiliation of having to face his sometime family as well was more than he could handle right now. "I'm fine. It's nothing."  
  
Angel dropped his hand reluctantly from Connor's neck. He hated how he always reacted, like an abusive father. He never waited for the explanation, his reflex was to use force. From the moment Connor had arrived in Los Angeles, almost every meeting had been opened with him slamming the boy against a wall or grabbing him. It was instinct, but unlike the ferocity of Angelus or his vampire guise, his actions towards Connor were always well intentioned. He had just had trouble adjusting to fatherhood. His son had been raised so differently to how he would have liked and once aggression was instilled in a person's heart it was virtually impossible to dislodge. Connor reacted to any situation as violently as Angel did. How could he set another example in the world he inhabited? Holtz had taught him well.  
  
Adopting a gentler but firm tone, he countered, "It's not nothing, Connor. What happened to you?"  
  
Connor moved backwards out of the moonlight beam and sat gingerly on the corner of the bed. He didn't want to let on how the bruising at the base of his spine pained him. "A fight, that's all."  
  
Angel pushed, "What was it? I mean, it was something pretty big, right?" He knew how independent Connor was and pushing only made matters worse but it worried him how beaten up his son appeared. Never before had he looked so punished.  
  
Connor eyed him, spitefully. "I don't know. It was dark. I wasn't ready."  
  
"You weren't ready?" Angel repeated, unconvinced. Connor was always ready. If someone so much as opened his bedroom door when he was asleep, the boy was halfway out of bed with a knife in his hand. Connor shot his father a dogged look as if daring Angel to doubt him which the vampire picked up on instantly. "Fine, okay. You're okay though?"  
  
Connor nodded and began to pull off his socks. When was he going to leave? "Did you want something or were you just here to spy on me?"  
  
Angel dug his hands into his pockets, unhappy with the sudden conversation turn. He just couldn't get close to the kid. As soon as he made a gesture of fatherly affection, Connor recoiled from it like a mouse from a deadly snake. And once Connor closed the door, there was no turning the handle again. Admitting defeat, he sighed, "A friend of mine, well, more of an acquaintance really, was killed recently. He was a demon. Anyway, the point is, I wanted to ask you if you'd look out for any strange activity. I'm trying to get a lead."  
  
Connor nodded, balling up the socks and kicking them under the bed. "Sure." He grabbed a magazine from the floor and lay back on the bed, signalling that he was done with their little talk. Angel mumbled, "So if you could just give me the heads up if you see anything, that'd be...great. I'll, uh, I'll just be going then." Connor made no move to say goodbye so Angel slipped back out the way he had come.  
  
**********  
  
"Jeez, kid, you scared the hell out of me!" Cole exclaimed, clasping one hand to his heart and catching his breath.  
  
"Sorry," Connor mumbled. He might be their prize fighter but it was a mutual arrangement. He had to polite. "Fax here?"  
  
Cole examined the youth before him. He hadn't had much opportunity to really look their latest attraction over properly. The kid made him feel a bit uncomfortable, like hearing footsteps behind you that take your stride, stopping and starting in synchronisation with you. There was nothing to latch onto to confirm the fear, just a gut feeling that something was amiss, that there was something evil lurking in the darkness. "No. He won't be back until tonight. Something I can do you for?" Connor shook his head and looked around the room as if searching for answers to his questions. Cole put down the pool cue he had been chalking up. "Listen, whatever it is, I can pass it on for you."  
  
"It's not that important. I just wanted another fight."  
  
Cole surveyed the child's passive face. "When for? I could probably find a space in the next week. I'm sure Fax would be thrilled. The more fights you do, the more money we can all make. You're our number one attraction."  
  
"I wanted one for tonight," Connor said, bluntly.  
  
The older man let out a mirthless chuckle. Was this kid for real? His face was still showing faint marks of the previous night's battle and Cole was pretty sure that wound in his side was still giving twinges. He might have miraculous fighting and healing abilities, but there was no way this kid was in a state to get back in the ring so soon. "Listen, kid. I admire your enthusiasm, truly I do, but you're taking things way too fast. I mean, there's a ton of demons out there willing to take you on. You don't have to fight them all at once. Give yourself a break. You earned it." He patted the youngster on the shoulder and steered him towards the pool table. "Why don't you have a game with me? Maybe a drink or two, if your dad doesn't mind, and then..."  
  
Connor shrugged the man's arm off him. "My dad? What do you know about my dad?"  
  
Cole raised his hands in surrender. "Woah there, kid! I don't know nothing 'bout your dad. I was just saying, you're underage and every kid's got a father...no matter what kind of demon he is. Unless of course you're poor old Floyd who was born to a muddy bog in Botswana." He gauged Connor's reaction. The youngster had prickled at the very mention of his father. It was always good to know what floated a contender's boat - loves, hates - anything that would get them in the mood for the kill. Maybe this was a good way in. Cole just had to play it nice and easy for a bit.  
  
"Heads I start," he said, tossing a coin into the air. The penny spun in the air for a moment before Connor's hand shot out with lightning speed to catch it. He gripped it in his fist for a moment, savouring the expression of amazement on his companion's face. Unfurling his fingers carefully so that Cole could see, he smiled, "Guess I start then."  
  
Cole watched in disbelief as Connor wiped the floor with him, potting every shot like a skilled hustler. "Sheesh, I guess it's just good for me we're not playing for money, huh?! Where did you learn to play like that?"  
  
Connor shrugged. "This is my first time."  
  
The older man made a concerted effort to keep his jaw from dropping. "First time? Wow, you've got a pretty charmed life, kid. You could make money any way you like. Fighting, playing pool. If I were a good enough player, I'd hit the road in an instant, travel the world, playing for money when I needed it. That's a dream you could live any day you want, kid. You could live my dream life!"  
  
Connor's eyes darkened like a pipette of ink had been drawn over the lenses. "You wouldn't think my life was so great if you knew me, knew the people...things I have around me."  
  
"Things? You mean demons? Like me?" Cole's step back from the table was almost imperceptible to the human eye but Connor had seen that look of fear before. It was fear of what he was capable of. He liked it, but not today. Today he just wanted to talk to someone without it having massive repercussions on his life tomorrow. That was the problem with living at the Hyperion, every chat became an anguished outpouring of sorrow and torment. Everyone wanted to help Angel's son, to look after him, to heal the psychological wounds he didn't even know he bore. They were waiting for him to have a meltdown and to let it all out. If only they knew that there was nothing to pour out. The darkness inside him was congealed to every organ. It wasn't viscous liquid ready to ooze out of him. It was still as much a part of him as it had ever been.   
  
He was wary of Cole but he didn't want to send him running for cover. "No, not like you. A vampire. Evil inside waiting to come out. I hate him."  
  
"Why don't you just kill him?" Cole asked, anxiously. He wasn't really asking the question seriously. He wanted to know what this youth was capable of, where he drew the line of justice. For future reference.   
  
Connor's eyes lifted suddenly from the corner of felt on the table he had been fiddling with. They lighted on Cole and penetrated his core. The blackness that had overcome them deepened into hollow pits of hatred. "I tried. I sent him to the bottom of the ocean in a metal box...until someone set him free." His unflinching gaze rested on his companion's face, measuring its response to such horror. The act had seemed justified at the time but now even he recoiled a little at the memory. It wasn't shame that he had been duped into believing Angel responsible for killing his foster father, nor was it regret that the deed was not completed effectively. Rather, it was the way Angel had treated him upon his return - the fact that he hadn't killed Connor still confounded him. It proved the one thing that the teenager withdrew from, that Angel loved him.   
  
To hate his father had been easy, it required no thought, no emotion. He was nothing more than a target to be eliminated by a process of premeditated steps. That he was loved despite the wounds he had inflicted was beyond Connor's comprehension.  
  
Cole was still staring back at him, his face a mask of apprehension. Swallowing hard, he ventured, "What happened? Why didn't he hunt you down?"  
  
"Because Angel is my father."   
  
Cole froze and felt the prickle of sweat starting to break out on his forehead. Angel. There was a name he had heard one too many times for comfort. Clearing his throat uncertainly, hoping it didn't quaver too much, he joked, "Guess that sets up a whole new set of family values in your home, huh? So, uh, how come you're his kid? I thought vampires couldn't, you know, get it up anymore?" He moved away from the table, putting the pool cues back in their holders. This was going to be the kid's exit whether he liked it or not. Cole was starting to get a case of the willies and it wasn't anything to do with the shadows in the dimly lit room.  
  
Connor looked around the hall, suddenly aware that he was giving too much away. It was one thing to find a non-judgemental voice for once but another to let his guard down completely. Heading towards the door, he mumbled, "I should go." Without another word, he practically bolted out of the door back into the alley.  
  
Cole breathed a heavy sigh and ran sweaty hands through his hair. Fax wasn't going to like this new bit of news, not at all.  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 5  
  
As always, please, please, please review, coz it don't mean nothing without you!! 


	6. Chapter 6

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS   
By Allegra  
  
See Part One for all notes & disclaimers.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: To all my lovely reviewers, you're the best. Thank you so much for your support :)  
  
**********  
  
Fred and Gunn were sitting across from each other in the booth at their favourite diner. Despite its position as a 'passing through' kind of joint, the waitresses knew the pair's likes and dislikes without even having to ask. Gunn watched in amusement as Fred shovelled a pile of pancake into her mouth, maple syrup dripping from her lip. She looked up at him, sheepishly. "Sorry," she mumbled through the food bulging her cheeks.  
  
Gunn laughed, "Hey, if I had a problem with the way you eat, our relationship would have been over on the first date!" Her face altered suddenly, crestfallen, and he quickly put one hand over hers. "But I don't. I love you just the way you are."  
  
Fred grinned and sliced up another piece of pancake to feed her boyfriend with. Swallowing the last from the plate for herself, she asked, "What do you think Angel and Cordy are doing? I mean, Angel made it pretty clear he wanted everyone out today. Even Lorne went out to find some all-day underground bar."  
  
Gunn shrugged, never taking his eyes off his girl. "I guess they just needed some alone time but who's complaining? It feels like months since you and I had some real time to ourselves."  
  
Fred nodded and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Gunn's lips. Gently cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her closer. "God, you're perfect," he murmured, deepening the kiss.  
  
**********  
  
"Angel, you really didn't have to do this. I mean, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture but Lorne's going to find it pretty hard to blend in for the day. It's not like he can spend a day sunning himself on the beach." Cordelia jumped up to sit on the edge of the counter, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "What's this about?"  
  
Angel looked at her completely innocently. "Lorne can look after himself. He's used to it...and nothing's going on. I just figured, you know, you came back when things were pretty hectic round here. Now, there's a natural lull in the storm and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take it easy for a few days."  
  
"And that means keeping our friends out of the hotel for the whole time?" Cordelia asked, incredulous. "Listen, Angel..." She moved closer to where he had propped himself up against a pillar and gently put a hand on his arm. "...I appreciate all of this, I really do, but you can't control what's going to happen. Just because I had a lapse in memory doesn't mean I've forgotten how things work around here or that I need to be wrapped in cotton wool." Her voice was gentle and sincere as she surveyed the anxious, hooded features.  
  
It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that, just the way she had done the other morning. In fact, Cordelia was the only person who could ever reach beyond the walls he put up. Sometimes that was hard to deal with. "I wasn't trying to..."  
  
Cordy squeezed his hand, "Angel, it's okay. Just act normal. That's all I need. Besides, I can take care of myself pretty much as well as anyone else in this outfit," she asserted, proudly.  
  
**********  
  
Wesley thumbed through the wad of pages in front of him. He was grateful that, even though his friends might have deserted him, his contacts were still open and available to him. The past month had been pretty quiet for his personal investigation company but some demon activity had reared its head at last. The former Watcher was grateful for a reason to concentrate on something other than his own life at last. The situation with Lilah was getting under his skin and it only served to consistently remind Wesley of his shortcomings. She was like a mirror held up to his faults. The deepest place in the bottom of hell was set aside for Judas, the traitor. That's what Lilah had told him and she had been right. Of course there were glimpses of time when Angel Investigations still relied on him and came for help, but he was under no illusions about what it meant. Wesley knew only too well that he was a last resort, not the first hope.  
  
"Wesley?" The door opened and high heels could be heard on the wooden floorboards, the casual saunter of Lilah Morgan. Calmly, he removed his glasses and closed the file before slipping it under a pile of miscellaneous papers on his desk.  
  
"Lilah." He glanced at the wall clock. "Have you been fired or has the nine to five job started changing its hours?"  
  
She perched on the corner of the desk, letting a finger trail over the bronze statue Wesley kept as a paperweight. "I've got some vacation time to take. Thought you and I could maybe...have a little fun."  
  
Wesley shifted in his chair. "Is that so?"  
  
Lilah swallowed. That wasn't the eager response she had been hoping for but, then again, this was Wesley. She let one hand wander to his neck, unconsciously tracing the jagged line of the scar across his throat. The other hand slid to the brown file hidden amongst his things. "So, what have you been up to?" she enquired, a little too casually.  
  
Wesley let her kisses and nibbles scale their way up his neck but reached out to remove her other hand from his belongings. "Nothing I want to tell you about." He moved her fingers towards his belt where they instantly began tugging at the buckle. Her weight shifted on top of him as his lips ravaged hers, coarse stubble burning her skin like sandpaper. Within moments, all their hatred and suspicions pulled itself into passion and the chair toppled backwards, barely fazing the couple as they engrossed themselves in one another.  
  
**********  
  
"Fax, you got a minute?" Cole edged in through the door. It didn't matter that his boss was in such a good mood because what he had to say was going to bring out the monster in a flash.  
  
The burly older man stopped humming and paused his rummaging in the desk. "Sure thing, Cole. What's up?"  
  
"That kid was in here earlier looking for you. He wanted another fight for tonight."  
  
Fax shook his head in disbelief. "Feisty one, he is. Well, if that's what he wants. I'm sure we can squeeze him in." Cole continued to shuffle in the doorway like a school child caught writing obscenities on the wall. "Spit it out, Cole."  
  
"Ah, it's nothin' really, just that we got talking, you know. He told me a bit about himself. A bit about his father...Angel."  
  
Fax stopped short and lifted his head from the newspaper he was flicking through. His eyes were wide with shock that was rapidly turning into rage. Cole could have sworn the guy's ears were starting to tinge red and that it was spreading down to his neck like a rash. "Angel?" he whispered, hoarsely. "That's his son? How?"  
  
"That's what I asked," Cole shrugged. "Guess he didn't want to say. All I know is that he hates the guy with a vengeance." Ignoring the dangerous territory he had just walked into, Cole began regaling his boss with the bloodcurdling tale of Connor's attempts to be rid of Angel once and for all. Like a rabbit hopping unwittingly into the lion's den, the man flailed his arms around in animated drama, his eyes occasionally wandering to the desk to ensure he still had his audience's attention.  
  
At first, Fax had barely registered a word his friend had said. The 'A' word was like burning acid digging a hole through his subconscious in search of the twisted memories Angelus had created. His wife's head torn off and oozing her life blood across the floor towards her dismembered body a few feet away. Fax saw a flash of their children torn apart in a similar fashion in the next room. The memories came flooding back in waves of nausea and emotion - the sound of his own boots on the floor as he entered the scene of the bloody massacre, the steady drip of blood from the young limb casually tossed into the rafters of the room. Fax could vividly remember moving forward in slow motion and examining that hand with numbed detachment, the way the fingers curled in an imitation of childlike sleep. Only the blue fingertips told the true story. Then, as quickly as the images had come, Fax locked down his memories. God knows he had lived through them enough times in the past two hundred years. That was why he had sold his soul to Satan in exchange for his revenge. Now, demonised and with scant remorse, he had found the very creature whose death he had sought all these years. Funny how life has a way of letting coincidences collide to bring friends and enemies together.   
  
He had come up against Angel before, taken the beast on alone and joined any gang willing or ready to fight the vampire. Yet, every time he had failed. Fax had followed the creature's paltry existence closely, from the day his soul had been returned to him. At first, the security of knowing Angel's private torment, reliving the chilling deaths of hundreds of innocents had been enough to satisfy Fax's thirst for revenge. But, as in all things, greed would not be kept at bay. He wanted more. He wanted the personal satisfaction of seeing the vampire turned into dust and, once a man has sold his soul to the Devil, the avarice only grows. Fax wanted Angel dead more than life itself but he knew the odds. He had seen the strength of the vampire's opponents and, each time, he had trounced them. Fax was no match for Angel or Angelus...but now he had a chance to make amends.  
  
Pricking his ears up at Cole's tale, Fax grinned. "Finally, the tables have turned, my friend. I might not be able to take Angel down from the outside but, from within his own family, well, I might just stand a chance."  
  
**********  
  
Lorne was starting to feel resentful towards Angel as he shifted position in the uncomfortable booth. There was a good reason he kept to the hotel during the day. The options for a green, horned and red-eyed demon during the daylight hours were limited and this dung hole was about the only place open to his kind of clientele. The karaoke demon sighed, bitterly. This was exactly the reason he had opened his own bar, well, partly. Just because a guy has scales across his ass doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate a good plump cushion as much as the next guy.   
  
To add to his woes, a few of the regulars remembered his singing and, in her boredom, kept drunkenly requesting songs. In his desperate attempt to get some peace and quiet, Lorne had reluctantly hit the books to gather information to help Angel's case. He was sure this demon activity rang some bells. In most cases, the same breeds looked out for each other. From the few findings they had made, together with the scrounged police details, it was clear a variety of demon kinds were congregating then dispersing as quickly as they had arrived. It didn't make any sense, but Lorne was convinced he had encountered it before. If only Wolfram and Hart hadn't bored that nice little hole in his head, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to recall.  
  
Looking up from his strawberry daiquiri, Lorne almost swallowed it down the wrong tube when he saw the man who had just strolled in the door. "Wesley," he said, more to himself than the ex-Watcher, but Wesley caught his eye. For a moment, Lorne wasn't sure he was actually going to come over to the booth. He had the determined, somewhat anxious expression of someone with a purpose. To the demon's relief, Wesley took a cautious step in his direction.  
  
Lorne was the last person the Englishman had expected to see in such a hell hole and, to be honest, Wesley wasn't sure if he was grateful or not to see a familiar face. It was a face from a circle he didn't belong to anymore, after all. He never knew whether he would be welcomed with guarded civility or turned away with venomous words. They had shared a few moments of conversation since Wesley had stolen Connor away from Angel as a baby, but the Englishman could not forget the way they had parted that day. He had knocked the life out of Lorne for a time and run for the hills only to have his throat slit and Connor sent to a hell dimension with Angel's worst enemy.  
  
"Lorne, I didn't take this as your kind of place," Wesley ventured.  
  
"It's not," Lorne rolled his eyes and patted the hard, velour seat beside him. "Care to join me for a drink and I'll fill you in."  
  
"Actually, I'm investigating a lead right now..."  
  
Lorne really didn't want to let Wesley go. He was the first half reasonable face he'd seen all day and the prospect of another six hours spent down here in a dank basement bar with only some drunkards for company was more than he could bear. Unwilling to hide his desperation, he quickly added, "So am I. Maybe we're onto the same case. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours?" The sentence ended more as a question, unsure whether Wesley would accept his offer. Fortunately, his friend hesitated just long enough before answering. "Excellent!" Lorne exclaimed and raised a hand to the barman. "Can I get a whiskey over here? Oh, and another daiquiri." Wesley slid reluctantly into the seat opposite his old friend, examining his fingers in place of actually talking to one of the very people he had betrayed. Lorne leaned forward, "So, long time no see."  
  
"Yes, well I'm not exactly welcome many places anymore." Wesley hadn't intended the words to sound as cutting but it was the truth. It had been a long, hard slog living in the Los Angeles underworld after the incident with Connor.   
  
"How have you been?" Lorne coaxed.  
  
"As well as could be expected, I suppose. How is everyone at the hotel - Cordelia, Gunn...Fred?" He knew the last enquiry was hardly subtle but, despite the occasional bit of news, he really didn't have a clue about the personal position of his former colleagues. And it was no secret that he had feelings for the young Texan charge Angel had adopted from Pylea.  
  
"Oh, well, Cordelia's getting there with Angel's help and, as far as I know, Fred and Gunn have spent most of their time holed up in their suite..." Lorne trailed off, realising the cutting implications of his remark. It was only rubbing salt in poor Wesley's wounds.  
  
If the man was hurt by Lorne's faux pas, he made no mention of it. Instead, he turned to the business at hand. "So, what exactly have you been investigating?"  
  
Lorne swatted his hand and took a sip of the new daiquiri planted in front of him. "Irregular demon activity from the depths. Usual stuff but it reeks of something bigger. Angel's come up with nothing so far."  
  
"I had a few leads but they turned out to be dead ends. I had a friend cast a locator spell but it only brought up a club downtown. I doubt that's anything more than a similar place to this." Wesley made a cursive nod towards the ugly set of clientele around them.   
  
Lorne paused for a moment, then enquired, "What was the name of the club?"  
  
Wesley rummaged in his jacket pocket and produced a crumpled piece of paper. "The Cage".  
  
Lorne snapped his fingers in a delighted light bulb moment. "That's it! I knew this scenario rang a bell! The Cage is an underground club of a different sort."  
  
Wesley frowned, "What do you mean - a different sort?"  
  
"It's a betting club, for fighting. I remember, it was the only competition my bar ever really had. Patrons divided into two halves - the half that wanted a bit of brutality for an evening's entertainment and those that wanted, well, something a bit more civilised."  
  
"Yes, but surely that's exactly what makes it an unlikely danger. It's just a place of entertainment for the demon world. Nothing to worry about," Wesley pointed out.  
  
Lorne shook his head, unconvinced. "I wouldn't be too sure about that. There are some pretty nasty folks down there, stabbing each other in the back and dealing in scalps. It would be the last place I'd visit for a night out but the first place I'd go looking for trouble. It's worth checking out."  
  
Wesley nodded. "I'll go tonight then."  
  
"I should tell Angel," Lorne murmured, already not liking the prospect of ruining the vampire's evening off the job.  
  
Wesley quickly asserted, "I can handle it." He didn't want to let on how much he disliked any meeting with Angel after everything that he'd done and he certainly didn't want to be considered incapable of fending for himself.   
  
Lorne wagged a green finger in his companion's face. "Believe me, you're gonna appreciate some back-up if you're entering The Cage. I know Angel's not your favourite person in the world right now, but he's the one to have watching your back."  
  
Wesley let out a mirthless laugh. "Perhaps, if he's not too busy stabbing it."  
  
"Said the pot to the kettle." Lorne's words hit home and he knew it but, strangely, it was meant kindly. The group would never get past this thing if nobody made light of it and reminded everyone that doom-day had been and gone. It was time to move on, to remember that, despite his sins, Wesley was still fighting for the good. He deserved credit for that at least.  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 6  
  
I know there's not much Connor here, but I wanted to establish a few things. Hope this chapter still delivered some pleasurable moments. Sorry the Fred/Gunn stuff is thin on the ground for Gunn lovers, but there's really not a huge place for their own story line at the moment.   
  
Please, please, please, please review for me. The story is meaningless without a wonderful audience!! Thank you. 


	7. Chapter 7

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS   
By Allegra  
  
See Part One for all notes & disclaimers.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry this part has been such a long time coming. I have some other stories in the pipeline as well & have been writing the chapters in rotation.   
  
A big, big thank you to all the fantastic people who reviewed my last chapter. I hope this meets expectations.  
  
**********  
  
"Hey, kid. We need to talk." Fax adopted his most paternal and assuring tone to melt Connor's icy heart. The teenager had arrived ten minutes earlier, only fifteen minutes before the fight. Most demons, regardless of their breed, liked to take some time to psych themselves up before getting in the cage. Not this one. Despite being nothing more than a child, Connor never came to the club any earlier than was absolutely necessary.   
  
Connor was busy discarding the weapons he always wore when he left home. It might be against the rules to use them in the ring but in the back streets of Los Angeles, he was fighting the good fight. "Sure. What's up?" He caught the apprehensive light in Fax's eye and quickly asked, "The fight's still on, right?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, kid." Fax hit the teenager playfully on the shoulder and sat down beside Connor. "Why didn't you tell me that you're Angel's son?"  
  
Connor tensed. "You spoke to Cole."  
  
Fax nodded. "Now, don't go getting your boxers in a twist, kid. He's an employee of mine and it's his job to report anything important. And this is pretty important. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Connor shrugged, insubordinately. "You never asked. Besides, what does it matter?" He hated talking about Angel but at least the discussion was making him angry enough to pull out a good fight later.  
  
"It matters because Angel and his people have enough fire power to bring this place down if they felt inclined. It's taken me a long time to build this business.... Does he know you're working here?"  
  
Connor did not want to lose his job. Recently, it had become the only part of his life that was private. He knew the times when Angel would come and watch him battle the undead in the alleys, how the only reason no one knocked on his door was because they already knew what he was up to. Working in The Cage was the final sanctuary. He could spend half an hour getting there, just dodging around enough to avoid being followed. To anyone else, it might seem absurd, but to Connor it meant everything. He was sick and tired of being told who he was, what he should do, where he should go.   
  
There were other reasons, too. The money he earned here kept the teenager clothed and fed, giving him the kind of comfort and security no amount of stealing and foraging could afford. He was damned if the name 'Angel' was going to stop him from staying here. Connor straightened himself and said, defiantly, "No, he doesn't know and I'd like to keep it that way."  
  
Fax nodded in comprehension. "Yeah, it must be tough being that bastard's son. I hear he's become the epitome of self-righteousness what with that soul and everything. Plus, setting up an investigation service to kill your own kind? Sounds like he's started forgetting what he really is."  
  
A wry smile crossed Connor's face, "Oh no, he hasn't forgotten that he's an asshole. He's doing a good job at that."  
  
Fax laughed. This was just the attitude he was hoping to find in the young scrap. "Okay, well how's about we make a deal? You and I both know that he's going to find you sooner or later, given the kind of establishment this is. So, you promise to fight for me as long as I want and I'll keep the vampire off your back. What do you say?"  
  
Connor eyed the older man suspiciously. There was always a catch when someone wanted to draw up a verbal contract and it invariably led to danger. Besides, it wasn't like the deal was anything special. "I can take care of Angel myself. I don't need to strike a deal with you to do it."   
  
Fax grinned a gold-toothed smile. "Yeah, well I might not be able to keep you in but I can sure as hell keep you out. I could kick you out of this joint and see that you don't fight anywhere else again. Believe me, when it comes to clubs like this, I'm at the top of the game, kid. You don't want to mess with me."  
  
The teenager weighed this up for a moment, only too aware of the demonic gleam in the man's eye. That was a pretty convincing argument. Connor knew the dangers would arise eventually with such a bargain but, at present, all he wanted was to stay here, make money, piss Angel off and get a high from the thrill of the fight. "Fine."  
  
Fax grabbed the youngster's hand and shook it firmly. "Thatta boy. We got a deal then. I'll leave you to get ready."  
  
**********  
  
The club was pumping that night, fluorescent lights strobing around the sweaty, confined space. Like a Hammer horror film, it illuminated the hideous, deformed demon faces squashed together, most pushing towards the cage in the centre of the room, currently devoid of spectacle. Music blared from every corner, songs ranging from dance to jazz classics, whatever pleased the diverse range of punters. A few human faces could be glimpsed in the throng but even those could easily be demons concealing their true form.  
  
Standing at the rear, near the end of the bar was a man who was no devil in human disguise. Wesley Wyndham-Price drew the labels of his long coat up around his chin, feeling the cold of the night air blowing in from the back door. He needed to keep a low profile. This was an establishment he had never visited before and the clientele were an unknown quantity to him, for now at least. At this point, it was the time to watch and wait. His fingers moved lightly to touch the sharpened knife stowed beneath his coat. Preparation was of the essence.  
  
Offering a deterring stare to anyone who dared so much as glance in his direction, Wesley began to feel in his element once more. He was a fearless rogue demon hunter again and damn good at it, too. That was if nobody interfered. The ex-Watcher contemplated the prospect of Angel and his team turning up here tonight. For the first time since he had been forced into exile, Wesley had found himself testing moves and planning sequences of action should a fight break out. It wasn't that he wanted to show off. It was just that Wesley wanted to prove that he was capable of handling such matters on his own. Angel might have been the leader once but those times were over and the Englishman could be a formidable foe. It was a matter of honour and Wesley was prepared for anything tonight.   
  
Buying a drink from the bar, he settled back in his corner, searching for suspicious lurkers who might give him a lead. The description could apply to almost anyone present in The Cage that night, including Wes himself, but then blending in was half the point.  
  
Half an hour passed before an insipid, nervous looking demon entered the cage with a microphone. The whine of feedback instantly drew silence from the crowd and the demon began his roll up routine for the first fight of the night. The mass of bodies was soon whipped up into a suitable frenzy and Wesley couldn't help but be partially impressed by the sheer energy and enthusiasm the guy put into his words. He listened, rapt, as the first contender was talked up. The demon in question had adopted the nickname 'Fang' which Wesley stifled a smile over. It sounded more appropriate for a dog than an apparently seven foot demon.  
  
Wesley began to consider whether this night was going to be of any business use at all. True, there were hundreds of demons congregated in many different varieties but none of them appeared to be there for anything other than good 'wholesome' fun. It was hard to imagine any of them turning away from the fight in search of getting their names in the papers. This was exactly the kind of place which was frequented by the most harmless of the netherworld. It was the local joint for those who, despite their gruff exteriors, were genuinely afraid of rearing their heads in human company. No, the real dangers were the ones who never set foot in places like The Cage but got their thrills from roaming the streets and dismembering hapless victims of their own. Then again, perhaps it was the thrill of the fight which ultimately led to brawls here, maybe more. It was worth sticking around for.  
  
Wesley knocked back the last of his whiskey when the demon challenger made his way through the jeering crowds into the cage. Wesley recognised it as Ishtul demon, although beneath the customary and distinctive orange and dark green markings, there were clear signs of mutation or interbreeding. Wesley produced his glasses and squinted to get a closer look at the creature turning round in the cage, displaying his formidable attributes. If his research and past encounters were anything to go by, Ishtul demons did not have poisonous, forked tongues, neither did they have an eye in the back of their head. In fact, the slightly milky, electric blue colour of the iris was indicative of a Kirliun Froth monster. Those were very rare, especially in built-up areas. In fact, they lived out most of their hundred years or so deep within desert sand dunes.   
  
Finally, there was something noteworthy about this dive and Wesley elbowed his way further into the depths of the crowd who were pushing harder towards the central arena. The single man was no longer an object of interest to the demons and he was able to get fairly close to the cage without incident. He wondered what the next offering might be as the compeer gave a swelling introduction to the mysterious second contender. From the sounds of it, whatever it was wouldn't stand a chance against the monstrosity parading the ring.  
  
From his vantage point, Wesley noticed the sea of beings part to make way for a small, lithe figure which made its way to the cage without ceremony or boastfulness. At first, there was an audible hush which slowly escalated into cheers and rallies of support. Hands reached out to touch the bare, almost human-like skin. Wesley cleaned his glasses again as they were jolted out of place by a particularly enthusiastic Domnok demon beside him. The contestant stepped casually into the cage beside the compeer.   
  
His sight blurred, Wesley could have sworn the opponent looked quite human. The blob striding round the small space was definitely flesh-coloured and it was dwarfed by the hulking Ishtul demon limbering up in the far corner. As the neutral demon with the microphone made his exit from the ring, reminding the mass of the non-existent rules, Wesley felt his glasses knocked fiercely from his hands by a sudden jostling surge as the fight began.  
  
The ex-Watcher cursed under his breath and gingerly crouched to the floor, rummaging in the filth and stickiness of spilt drinks and cigarette butts for his precious spectacles. He had been meaning to get contact lenses years ago. Glasses just never fitted the occasion when it came to his line of work. Finally, after having his fingers painfully trapped beneath shoes and hooves alike, Wesley caught the frames just before they were trampled beneath some rather smelly webbed feet. He emerged after several punches had already been thrown and the crowd was already starting to choose their winner.  
  
Wesley rubbed impatiently at the lenses one last time and quickly placed them back on his head before anything else could befall them. The two fighters had their back to him in the opposite corner, tangled together in a vicious brawl of punches and scratches. It was hard to tell from the spectacle alone but the crowd indicated that contender number two was faring better. How could that be? If only he'd step a bit closer to this side of the cage, then the Englishman could get a better look.  
  
Wesley didn't have to wait long before he was obliged. The young creature was hurled viciously across the cage and landed mere feet from where Wes was standing. For a moment, the contender just lay there and the Ishtul demon seemed to be enjoying a moment of respite as he rallied the crowd into action. Wesley watched what appeared to be a young man slowly raise himself onto all fours, spitting up blood in a foul glob of phlegm onto the floor of the cage. His face turned momentarily towards the crowd so close to him and Wesley's eyes met with his in a moment of mutual shock.  
  
Wesley's jaw dropped. He had come prepared for everything...except this. Connor. For a second, he could do nothing more than stare in disbelief, unable to process the thoughts flooding his brain. Sweat and blood poured off the teenager's thin frame and his slender fingers gripped the floor as he fought to regain his composure. Getting hold of his mixed emotions, Wesley reached for his knife and moved it discreetly into view. His eyes pleaded with Connor to understand that he'd get him out, no matter what it took.  
  
As if the shock of seeing Angel's son there wasn't enough, the way Connor shook his head in grim determination told Wesley what his heart didn't want to believe. Connor wasn't here by force - he had volunteered. The question was, should he leave him to it or break him out anyway? If there was one thing the ex-Watcher hadn't banked on it was getting in that cage with nothing more than a knife in his pocket and a wooden stake up his sleeve. Maybe a good lecture afterwards would be enough.   
  
A moment later it hit him, as he watched Connor fling the Ishtul demon from one wall to another. Angel would be here soon. That made the decision final. Connor had to get out of that cage now or there would be more than just a lecture at the end of it. Now, Wesley just had to get the boy's attention.  
  
In Connor's mind, the fight seemed to be getting tougher. After seeing Wesley, he had been on a winning streak, perhaps because he wanted the ex-Watcher to see what a good fighter he had become. But the shock of seeing a familiar face there was putting him off his game. His mind was racing with thoughts where there should only be feral instinct. The Ishtul demon had got in a few good licks which, on any other day, Connor would have been insulted to miss.   
  
Gradually, the blows seemed to rain down on him more rapidly and the teenager was finding it harder to avoid the lashing tongue and the third eye catching his every move. Even as calculations, manoeuvres and fears raced through his head, Connor knew one thing for certain. He couldn't lose this fight. Not because he couldn't play the hero in Wesley's eyes. Not to prove that the ex-Watcher's responsibility for sending him to a hell dimension had paid off in gold. It was because this was a fight to the death and if he didn't win, he wouldn't make it out alive.  
  
Still the blows kept raining on him and Connor's movements blurred even in his own eyes as he tried to match punch for punch.  
  
**********  
  
"This is the place," Angel glanced once more at the directions Lorne had scribbled down. There were no neon signs or arrows pointing them to the right spot but the shouts were ample proof that they had followed the map correctly.  
  
Gunn raised a disgusted eyebrow. "Boy, am I glad you made Cordy stay at home for this. If I've got to hold my nose to get past the door, I dread to think the complaints she'd have."   
  
Angel chose to ignore that image. Fred and Cordy wouldn't have lasted five minutes in this dive, not to mention the no women policy. "Are you packing?"   
  
Gunn nodded, "Like Rambo."  
  
"Good." Angel took a deep breath and pushed open the grimy door and stepped into the sweat pit, grimacing at the heavy odours and swell of creatures leaning in towards the display at the centre of the club.   
  
"Jesus, this place could do with some serious airing and I don't think Febreze is going to do it." Gunn flapped one hand in front of his nose, only succeeding in moving the pungent air around him rather than dispelling it. He glanced at his brooding companion for a reaction but Angel wasn't listening. He was frozen.   
  
Gunn tracked the man's dark gaze to the centre of the ring. "What is it?"  
  
"Connor." Without further explanation, Angel strode towards the throng of demons and began to push hard against the packed bodies as he tried to get closer. Evidently, Wesley had made his move at the optimum time because, even with his vampire strength, Angel found it hard to get past the first three rows of viewers.   
  
Gunn, with natural human sight, was slower on the uptake and narrowed his eyes into the glaring lights around the cage, trying to get a handle on the two bodies grappling on the floor there. Then, like a bullet through the brain, he understood. "Jesus Christ!" Following suit, he pushed towards the ring with Angel. Vampire or no vampire, he was going to need back-up. Gunn only hoped that Lorne had been right about Wesley turning up. It would probably be the only time that guy might actually be a help rather than a hindrance.  
  
When the crowd finally forced even Angel to stop several haphazard rows short of the cage, Angel took a moment to survey the situation. Gunn finally reached him, amidst many jeers and complaints from the demons he passed. He leaned in towards Angel's ear and shouted, "What's the plan?"  
  
"I leap to the top of the cage, smash the roof in and get Connor out."   
  
Gunn suppressed a smile. This was absurd. "Are you nuts?"  
  
Angel's eyes flickered to Gunn's face momentarily before returning to his son in the ring. "What's wrong with that plan?"  
  
"It would be quicker to tell you what's right about it, and that's nothing. Angel, I know you're high on your vampiness and all, but there's several of every kind of demon I can name in this joint and they're baying for a fight. Unless Connor wants out, he's going to be pretty pissed and so are these good folks. You don't stand a chance against all of them. You're completely outnumbered and did I mention surrounded?" Angel's gaze remained on Connor and Gunn shouted a little louder, "Are you even listening to me?"  
  
The sight was mesmerizing. Angel rarely had the opportunity to see what his son was truly capable of. Often, they fought side by side with little time for spectating. Even on the nights Angel followed Connor and watched him from the shadows, he couldn't get close enough to see the precision and sheer power that child possessed. Because to Angel, he still was a child, even if he controlled strength beyond most men in their prime.  
  
Angel was torn between a desperate urge to release Connor from the cage and a more primal pride in how well his son was kicking that demon's ass. His movements were agile, swift and drenched with sheer power. Yet, even before his own eyes, Angel saw a change come over the teenager. Where a moment ago Connor had seemed perfectly in control, the Ishtal demon seemed to be getting the upper hand. The teenager missed a punch and was sent flying across the cage where he landed hard, denting the tough metal frame with the sheer velocity. At first, Angel had disregarded the red sheen staining his son's skin as a result of small scrapes from the demon, but they were gradually increasing in number.   
  
Angel watched in tense silence as Connor sluggishly warded off another blow. Staggering to his feet, the teenager began to regain his ground as he deftly flicked the demon's feet out from under it and sent it thundering to the floor. The kid didn't have it in him to flip himself up into fighting stance and Angel watched his knuckles whiten as he levered his body up using the netting for support.   
  
The demon was beginning to regain its momentarily addled senses and Connor aimed a sharp kick to its head, forcing a violent growl from deep within the Ishtal's throat. Connor knew he had to finish the fight, but he needed a moment's respite. Wiping beads of sweat from his upper lip, he turned away from Angel's side of the cage where the vampire and Gunn were trying to get his attention.   
  
"Damn!" Angel cursed. "He didn't see us. We've got to get closer." In those last few moments, all pride and interest in watching Connor fight had left Angel and now he just wanted to see his son safe again. He used unnatural force to carve another path deeper into the fray until he was only a few feet from the cage.  
  
Gunn gestured to a door in the metal mesh. "There!" Together, the two men began to edge towards one corner of the cage. Then, something caught Angel's eye. Connor was no longer taking a well-earned breather, he was making eye contact with someone in the crowd. It was clear from the expression in his eyes that he was trying to communicate something to someone out there. Angel's keen vampire sight homed in on the area his son was staring at. "Wesley."   
  
Gunn put one hand up to cup his ear, "What?"  
  
"Wesley's here."  
  
Gunn followed the older man's gaze, catching sight of a light reflected in the ex-Watcher's glasses. "What's he doing?"  
  
"Not helping, that's for sure," Angel growled. Lorne had mentioned Wesley's expected presence at The Cage that night but the vampire was no longer sure he could count the Englishman as an ally any longer. Of course, Wesley had worked with Angel Investigations since his betrayal – sometimes for mutual benefit and sometimes out of the goodness of his heart. That notwithstanding, there was no denying that Wesley had his own agenda now and Angel had come to learn that unknown quantities only ever brought danger in the long run.  
  
As if sealing his evaluation of Wesley as bad news, while Connor's back was turned, the Ishtal demon rolled slowly to the side and, with lightning speed, flicked a black, forked tongue in Connor's direction. It uncoiled and stretched into disgusting proportions and caught the bare skin of the teenager's foot before whipping back into the creature's gaping mouth.   
  
Angel watched in amazement as Connor whirled on the demon with such rapidity, even the vampire wasn't sure what he had done. Then, in a flurry of muscular limbs, the demon's head was severed from his body and the sickening crunch of flesh and bone designated Connor the winner of the match.  
  
A man appeared at the cage door which Angel and Gunn had been heading for and swung it open. Once inside, he held Connor's bruised arm aloft in a hero's stance and quelled the cries of the crowd with eulogies about 'The Kid'. Angel and Gunn watched in vague contempt as the rustle of money exchanging hands replaced the shouts and hollers.   
  
Without further word, Connor was hustled down the steps from the cage and steered towards a back room. Angel was gradually being pushed further away from his son by the hordes who were trying to secure their evening's winnings. Reviled, he watched as Wesley managed to attach himself to the burly bodyguards jostling Connor out of the bar. "Come on," he instructed Gunn. Angel knew only too well that he could wait for Connor to come out of the back door once he was cleaned up, but he needed to see his son now. There were words to be said and he was damned if Wesley would be the one to say them.  
  
**********  
The rear rooms of The Cage were about as rancid as the main club but it didn't bother Connor. Perhaps it was because Quor'toth had shown him its fair share of disgusting abodes but perhaps his indifference had more to do with the fact that he was shattered beyond belief. Every inch of his body bore the tale of his night's activities. Even as he sat down on the wooden crates stacked in front of the mirror, he winced as he tried to find a comfortable position. Returning the bitter gaze of his reflection, he clinically surveyed the damage inflicted on him. Blood mingled with his sweat and ran in crimson rivulets down his bruised torso. Some cuts he had received in the early rounds were already beginning to heal but the more recent ones gaped open.  
  
He hesitantly stuck a finger in his mouth, feeling for loose teeth. Content that the swelling on his jaw was the only damage, he grabbed a towel and began to rub away the red tell-tale stains of war from his body.  
  
"That was quite a show."  
  
Connor was too tired to care whether his visitor was friend or foe and he continued rubbing himself down without turning round. "Thanks."  
  
"I just hope Angel was as impressed as I was." That caught the boy's attention.  
  
Connor turned to face the man he now knew to be responsible for sending him to a hell dimension for his formative years. "Well, I guess I've got you to thank for my demon-fighting practice." Wesley's face cringed momentarily as if he had slapped and Connor momentarily regretted his harsh words. Cordelia had filled him on the details long ago, but it was still difficult to imagine that this man whom Connor had barely met could have held him in his arms only a few months ago.  
  
Given the circumstances of his life, Connor knew he should hate Wesley for what he had taken from him. But he didn't. He was relieved. The teenager preferred his life as it stood, the one where he had enjoyed a human as a father and spent his time killing the demons. Holtz might not have been his father by blood but he had been more than Angel could ever hope to be. Wesley had given him a gift, had saved him from a reprehensible childhood.  
  
Connor slowly digested Wesley's words about his father. "Angel was here? Watching?"  
  
Wesley stepped forward into the room. "Yes, and I don't think he was best pleased." He waited for Connor to make some move but the boy simply smirked and searched in the floor debris for his socks and shoes. Wesley knew he wouldn't have to wait long before Angel and Gunn burst in and he desperately wanted Connor on his side. "Connor, I know all this might seem a good idea right now…"  
  
Connor looked up at him, slyly. "Oh, it is a great idea."  
  
Wesley drew a breath. "Why? Because it will make Angel angry? Show him that you can take care of yourself?"  
  
Connor busied himself with tying his shoelaces. "Maybe."  
  
"Look at yourself. You're a wreck. Is this really the best way? Connor, this is madness. Sooner or later you are going to get yourself killed."  
  
The defiance in the young man's eyes was frightening. "So? What do you care? Last I heard, you weren't exactly looking out for everyone's best interests."  
  
"I was trying to preserve your life…and Angel's." Wesley stopped himself. Now was neither the time or place to get into the particulars of what he had done to, and for the sake of, his friends. Connor was simply trying to get a rise out of him. "Connor…"  
  
Wesley was cut short as a commotion outside the door interrupted him and Angel burst into the room, karate-chopping the last bodyguard to the floor. Connor seemed unruffled by the dramatic and somewhat violent entrance but the Englishman couldn't help noticing how pale the boy had grown over the course of their conversation. He had not been given the opportunity to study his miraculous healing abilities at close quarters, but Wesley momentarily wondered if those shallow scrapes were still supposed to be glistening with blood ten minutes after the fight was over.  
  
Angel waited until Gunn was safely in behind him before slamming the door. "I don't want anyone in here until I'm done." Gunn nodded.  
  
Connor just smiled like a typical teenager, amazed at yet another show of ridiculous moody bravado from his embarrassing father. Wesley had intended to keep quiet but suddenly found himself defending Connor when he saw the fury etched across Angel's face. "Angel, hasn't he had enough of a beating for one night…?"  
  
Angel pointed a finger at him. "Shut up, Wesley. I'm only just getting over the fact that you were standing there doing nothing while my son got the life thrashed out of him."  
  
Connor's head snapped up. "Hey, I was doing just fine. I won, didn't I?!"  
  
Wesley crossed his arms defensively. "Well, I hadn't exactly come armed for battle in the very focal point of the club. And what was it that you were doing to help, Angel?" He spoke the vampire's name pointedly, a subtle but vicious reminder that he was the demon amongst them – the only one on a level with any of the goons in that room.  
  
Gunn leaned hard against the door. He could see Wesley's point only too well, in fact he'd been thinking it himself, but he was damned if he'd admit it. In truth, he enjoyed watching the Englishman being pounded on. "Looks like you've outstayed your usefulness, Wes. So why don't you just hit the road?"   
  
Much to Gunn's annoyance, Wesley completely ignored his fellow human's comment and turned his attention back to Connor. "Connor, where are you going to stay tonight?"  
  
Angel put a hand to Wesley's chest, preventing him from taking a step closer to his son. "Hey, Connor's not going anywhere with you."  
  
Connor stood up, angrily. "I'll go wherever I want. You're not my keeper."  
  
Angel checked himself, aware of how irrational he was being. "I know, Connor, it's just…. You're my son and you've been through a lot. You need to be with people who care about you." In the last sentence, his dark eyes travelled pointedly to Wesley's face.   
  
"Oh yeah, I forgot what a nurturing environment the Hyperion is. All those tasers and…" Connor stopped suddenly and groped for the table edge with trembling hands. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the whirls of colour behind his eyelids to abate. It felt like the whole room was being spun round like a top. He felt a strong, cold hand on his shoulder. "Connor? Are you okay? What's the matter?"   
  
With all his remaining strength, Connor shoved Angel away, stumbling as he did so. Wesley's hands caught him and helped him back to the crate he had been sitting on. The teenager put his head between his knees and focused on a bit of dirt stuck to the floor. Wesley's face appeared in front of his. "Connor, is there a bitter taste in your mouth? Slightly acidic?" Connor nodded.  
  
Angel's concerned voice chimed in. "Why? What's wrong with him?"  
  
Wesley frowned as he ran one hand across Connor's forehead, checking for signs of fever. He glanced up, suddenly in education mode. "That demon was some kind of half-breed, a fusion of two different demons. If I'm correct about one part of that being a Kirlium Froth monster, then the its forked tongue is poisonous."  
  
Angel desperately wanted to reach out to Connor but, even in his frail state, the boy's eyes still darted warily towards him, making it quite clear he didn't want his father present. "We've got to get him out of here. Is there an antidote?"  
  
Wesley gently pressed two fingers to Connor's wrist, registering his erratic pulse. "I'd have to consult my books."  
  
"We've got a bigger selection at the hotel. Why don't you meet us there?"  
  
Gunn cleared his throat uncertainly, peering through the door he had opened. "We've got to make it out of here first. Connor's got a real fan club. There's got to be about fifty demons waiting for him."  
  
Angel cracked his knuckles, disconcertingly. "Fine. We just push him through, tell them he's not signing autographs tonight."  
  
Gunn cocked his head and returned Angel's stare. "I don't think these guys are looking for a signature. I think they're after something a bit more…substantial."  
  
Wesley's anxious voice cut in. "He's burning up. The symptoms are coming on thick and fast. We need to get him out of here sooner rather than later."  
  
Connor was starting to shiver and Angel was certain the bruises mottling his son's torso were blossoming rather than healing. Each cut and slice stood out in sharp relief against his pale skin. The kid had stopped protesting against the unwanted attention now and Angel had to wonder if he was even listening to anything they were saying. Taking his chances, the vampire knelt before the teenager and placed a placating hand on his cheek. "Connor, can you walk? Can you make it out back?"  
  
Connor braced himself and shakily brought himself to a standing position. Angel and Wesley supported him under his arms until they were certain he could hold himself upright. "Okay, let's go. Gunn, you and I take the lead with the weapons we've got. Wesley, you go defensive. Don't let them get close to him."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Angel checked his team were ready and he plunged out of the door, fists swinging.  
  
**********  
  
"Fred, you really can't mix those two things. It's like, well, it's just wrong." Cordelia looked objectionably at the apparently edible concoction the Texan twig had placed in front of her.   
  
"But I thought crab paste and peanut butter were both savoury. I mean, as long as I'm not mixing, it's okay, right?"   
  
Cordelia felt nauseous just looking at the plate but the earnest expression in Fred's wide hazel eyes melted her heart. "Well, that's debatable, hon, but whatever lights your fire…"  
  
Fred grinned and shovelled a piece of toast into her mouth as if were the best caviar in the world. "Mmmm, it's really good," she mumbled.  
  
Cordelia raised her hands in protest. "Just don't do it near me, I'm feeling sick just imagining the taste sensation." She paused suddenly and frowned, "Oh, no, wait. That's not the food it's a…" Then the vision took hold, propelling flashes of images through her mind like a horror film she didn't rent. The sensation lasted only a minute, of being forced into horrific scenarios as a bystander then plucked back out before she'd barely grasped a useful bit of data.  
  
"Cordy, are you all right? What was it?" Fred's concerned gaze greeted Cordelia back into reality.  
  
"It's Angel and Gunn. It's that club, Wesley's there…and I think someone's hurt." She didn't mention that flashes of Connor had been in the vision, too. She just knew they had to do something and fast.  
  
Fred wiped the crumbs absently from her mouth. "Oh my god! What should we do?"  
  
Cordelia calmed herself and took a moment to think. "We've got to be the cavalry. They're outnumbered. Get the truck and I'll meet you round front."  
  
**********  
  
"Angel, I don't think these are the demons from the club!" Gunn shouted over the grunts and roars of battle as he swung his axe at the closest aggressor, lopping its head off in one neat scythe action.  
  
"I think you're right. Why are they so aggressive?" Angel hollered back as he concisely dealt with two opponents with one double ended knife. "How's Connor?"  
  
Wesley was bringing up the rear like a road sweeper from hell, swinging his sword from side to side while shielding an ever-weakening Connor behind him with his free arm. "He's holding up but we've got to get out of this soon!"  
  
"There's too many of them. Anyone got any bright ideas?" Angel yelled.  
  
"Ask them nicely?" Gunn offered, wryly.  
  
As if in answer to their prayers, the sound of a car horn blasted over the incidental noise from the melee. Then, before any of the demons could register where the sound came from, Gunn's truck rammed backwards into the group. Some were caught under the wheels and others were pinned to the narrow alley walls by the monstrous hulk of metal. Angel and Gunn dealt with the remaining problem demons barring Wesley's way to truck.  
  
The ex-Watcher half supported, half carried Connor to the rear of the vehicle and tossed him unceremoniously onto the tarpaulin. Angel and Gunn leaped after him. "Go! Go!" Gunn yelled, delivering a kick to a demon's face as it clamoured for the edge of the truck.  
  
In a squeal of burning rubber, the truck barrelled out of the alley and it was with great relief that Angel noticed the demons did not choose to follow. Finally, he could direct his attention solely on his son's welfare. Wesley was holding the teenager with his head resting on the Englishman's lap. The grim expression on the man's lips was enough answer to the question burning in Angel's mind.   
  
Wesley caught his gaze and said, "We should go to my apartment. I have several books on demon poison. I'm pretty sure they'll give us what we need. Plus, there is an apothecary nearby. I know the owners and they'll open up for me at any hour."  
  
Angel nodded and tapped on the rear glass of the truck's cab, giving Cordelia the new instructions. Though he didn't feel the cold much, Angel drew his jacket tighter around him and gazed down on his ailing son. Connor's sweat-soaked hair lay in damp clumps against his forehead and Angel gently brushed them away from his face. The teenager was shivering with the cold wind but his skin was burning as if it were on fire. He prayed they got to Wesley's in time. The vampire hated to consider the possibility that they might be too late.  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 7  
  
Please, please review for me! I'd love to know what you made of that part. Or else, I might just leave Connor to die…(he,he)!! 


	8. Chapter 8

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS   
  
By Allegra  
  
See Part One for all notes & disclaimers.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm flinging this up moments after I've finished it because I know it's been ages since I posted a new chapter. Therefore, I apologise profusely for any spelling errors or typos you find. Oh, and please, please, please review – just a tiny, weeny one will do!   
  
**********  
  
CHAPTER 8  
  
By the time Cordelia pulled the truck into the parking space beneath Wesley's apartment building, the clouds had already darkened and spots of rain stained the cracked tarmac. It had the feel of a summer storm, refreshing yet ominously telling of the hurricane which would follow.   
  
Gunn leapt off the back and dropped the metal guard as Angel helped Connor down. His face was ashen and a thin sheen of sweat crossed his brow but, even in his weakness, Connor was defiant. "I can do it." He shrugged Angel's hand away but made no move to do the same with Wesley who was supporting his left side. Angel resented the cold snub of his aid but knew better than to raise the issue now. Connor might fight the knowledge that his father loved him with all his might but Angel's sole concern was for the safety of his son, even if it garnered no thanks.   
  
The boy leaned heavily on Wesley as the group made their way to the elevator and the older man gestured to Fred, who was standing closest to him. "Fred, my keys are in my back pocket." His mind could not have been further from thoughts of wooing but the horrified expression on Gunn's face reminded him of the bad feeling lying between them. He refrained from saying anything; Fred's partner might not be able to see past petty arguments to the larger picture but Wesley was bigger than that.  
  
At the door, Fred fumbled with the set of keys, trying one after another in spite of Wesley's instructions. Cordelia piped up, "Got enough keys there, Wes? What do you need them all for?" He shot her an unappreciated look and she raised her hands in defence. "Forget I asked. I don't think I want to know."  
  
Once inside, Wesley helped Connor to the sofa and quickly headed for the bookshelves, followed closely by Fred and Gunn. "We should start with Volume 2 of Shanks 'Demon Mutation'."  
  
Fred nodded, donning her glasses. "I'll check the 'Interdimensional Apothecary', see what provisions we might need."   
  
Gunn felt his gut tying itself into knots. Just watching the pair together made him feel sick. He told himself it was just the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head, that he should trust his girl more, but it wasn't here that was the problem. Ever since Wesley had been thrown out into the cold, he had changed into a man with a heart of steel. Where once there had been purpose, now there was determination, a ruthless capacity to chase down what he wanted and use any means necessary to achieve it. No, Fred was not the danger. She was merely the victim of his predatory advances. But there was more. It didn't take a genius to see the pair of bookworms together to see where the chemistry lay. It was as if they could read each other's thoughts. Gunn had trouble even guessing what Fred wanted for breakfast.  
  
"Can I give you a hand, baby?" He slipped his hands protectively around Fred's waist. She turned to face him, her nose already buried in one of Wesley's leather-bound volumes. He withdrew his arms, noting the serious no-nonsense expression on her face.   
  
"Uh, you could..." She stopped short, glancing along the shelf for inspiration. Much to Gunn's annoyance, Wesley chimed in, "Gunn got a better look at most of those demons than the rest of us. Perhaps he could see if he could identify any for us. There are several demon species texts on the bottom shelf."   
  
Something snapped inside Gunn's head and he whirled on the Englishman. "Hey, I don't remember asking for an order from you, English!"  
  
Wesley looked up in surprise but appeared unruffled. "I'm sorry, perhaps I misunderstood what you were doing here. You know your own way out."  
  
Gunn felt uncomfortable off his own turf, especially when the new ground happened to be his enemy's apartment. "You could at least talk to me like I'm here!"  
  
"Fine." Wesley stepped closer. "Why don't you identify the demons we saw in those books right there? Excuse me while I try to find a way to save Connor's life." He pointed to the dusty corner of the room and went directly back to reading his books.  
  
From his vantage point on the sofa, the teenager had been taking in the whole situation perfectly clearly. At this final statement, he retorted, "I'm not dying. In fact, I feel much better."  
  
Cordelia appeared at the hatch to the kitchen, her face taking on matronly properties. "Connor, you look like death."  
  
"Yeah, well I feel better." To prove the point, he stood up and headed towards the kitchen where Angel's bulky figure blocked him. The older man's face bore the same expression it had the night he had returned from the watery depths of the Atlantic. The hooded brow only served to blacken his eyes further, hardening them like onyx as he stared down his son.   
  
Connor swallowed tersely. He could guess what was coming; he only hoped the blows weren't too hard. He might be feeling better but that was just from the demon poison, not the half healed bruises all over his body.   
  
"You're feeling better? Physically?" Angel inquired, his voice devoid of emotion.  
  
Connor shrugged, warily. "I guess."  
  
"But you must be feeling pretty sick in your mind, right? I mean, nobody functioning on all cylinders would purposely throw themselves into a cage full of demons just for fun. Would they? I mean, that just sounds insane to my ears." He took a step forward, forcing Connor to move backwards towards the sofa. The menacing presence was not lost on the others in the room and awkward silence descended. All but Connor stood meekly, as if being chastised by a school master. Yet, Angel's son was defiant.  
  
"I don't know what kind of game you think this is, Connor, but I've had enough. You sink me to the bottom of the ocean and I forgive you, you take one liberty after another in my house and I let it pass. But times are changing, Connor, because whatever you want to believe, I am still your father. You are still my son." He said the last sentence slowly, every syllable dripping with deliberate menace. "You can never change that...just like you can never change how much I love you - with every fibre of my being. Hell, if someone had told me that by enduring eternity in a metal box underwater, I would have bought the boat myself but this..." He waved a finger at the bruises decorating Connor's skin, "...this has got to stop." The boy opened his mouth to speak but Angel cut him off. "I don't want to hear your excuses, I don't want to hear all the reasons why this world sucks, that I suck and that you can do whatever you want because you can't."  
  
Connor crossed his arms, refusing to back down. "You going to stop me?"  
  
"No, and that's just it. Look around you, Connor. It's time to wake up and smell reality. Do you think anyone in this room has the kind of life they asked for? Yet here they are. I can't stop you, son, but I can't keep being here to pick up the pieces. It's not fair."  
  
Connor narrowed his eyes, sardonically. "You said it yourself, life sucks. I never asked you to help me. I can look after myself."  
  
"You mean like you are now?" Angel rallied.  
  
"I was doing just fine! I won that fight, no thanks to any of you."  
  
Cordelia added, "What about the poison?"  
  
Connor's eyes blazed. "You too? Thanks, Cordelia."  
  
Cordelia came up beside Angel, trying to calm the situation. "Connor, I'm just worried about you."  
  
"Well don't." His angry gaze returned to his father. "I guess I should be thanking you for making me a freak. It looks like your genes just saved me from a horrible death."  
  
Angel began to speak but Cordelia didn't need a vision to see where this little 'discussion' was leading. They couldn't afford to let Connor run off in such a state. He might be right about his demonic healing powers saving him from a grisly fate or they might just be delaying the effects. She quietly placed a hand on Angel's arm and looked earnestly at the bitter teenager in front of them. "Connor, can't you see that we are all concerned for your safety? We're not trying to spoil your fun or stop you working things out for yourself but..." She sighed, willing herself to go on. "...Angel's right about one thing. Even if we wanted to, we won't always be here to help you, to pick up the pieces."  
  
Connor sneered, "Pick up the pieces?" His eyes were the colour of a storm cloud about to burst but Angel refused to back down as his son plunged in the knife. "Isn't breaking me how you get your kicks?"  
  
The boy had been unprepared for the onslaught of emotions this argument was digging out of him. Not even in the worst fight had he felt so out of control. He could not hold back the hateful words tumbling out of his mouth and a big part of him didn't care. It was like a release. Maybe he'd be better off without a father at all, to make Angel hate him so much that the world would become simple again. He could tear down the fabric of this complicated world Holtz had returned him to and destroy the greyness which had mixed his colours from black and white. He felt tears pricking his eyes and his voice beginning to tremble but still the words kept coming. "Why should I care what you think? Why should I respect you? You mean nothing to me, you've done nothing for me!"  
  
Angel could see the dam of emotions ready to burst but he was lost for words. The teenager was right, wasn't he? How often had a hug only been followed by violence. He was an abusive father and he hated himself for it. Holtz had been sly. With nothing more than insinuations in that impressionable boy's head, he had brought out the monster in Angel time and time again. Those moments could never be put back, only made up for. "Connor, if you'd only let me get close..."  
  
He reached out to touch his son but Connor flinched away. "I don't want anything from you." A single tear traced a path down his drawn cheek and he began to back towards the door. He wasn't going to give Angel the satisfaction of seeing him cry.   
  
Cordelia had anticipated the action and was already barring the way. "Connor, you can't leave. What if the poison takes effect?"  
  
"I don't care!" Connor shoved her aside with unnatural force and tore away down the corridor with Gunn in pursuit.  
  
Fred and Wesley rushed to Cordelia's side and helped her to her feet. She looked over at Angel, "Aren't you going to go after him? Gunn will never catch up."  
  
Angel's blank stare slowly rose to meet hers. "I'd only drive him further away." Momentarily, his eyes wandered back to the spot where Connor had been standing only seconds ago as if still expecting to see him, then he turned away hopelessly.  
  
Fred whispered to Wesley and Cordelia, "How are we going to find Connor without Angel?"  
  
"We won't, unless he wants to be found," Wesley noted, grimly.  
  
**********  
  
Connor's feet pounded the tarmac as he willed himself forward. Occasionally, he spared a glance backwards to make sure no one had followed and was rewarded with nothing more than shadows. Finally, his pace slowed and the teenager allowed his breath to even out and his head cleared enough to give him a moment's recollection of events.   
  
As much as he hated to admit that he might be at fault, he had to wonder whether running away from Angel and the others had been the best of ideas. If his body was telling the truth, Connor may have been a little hasty in dismissing the poison as no match for his demonic make-up. Then again, he couldn't bring himself to go back. It would only entail another lecture, maybe worse, and Connor would give anything to avoid seeing Angel for, well, at least the rest of his life. The vampire had looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.   
  
The teenager shivered against the cold wind left in the wind's wake. It was only now that he realised he had left his jacket back at Wesley's apartment, including all his earnings. Connor cursed under his breath. He was starving but he had quickly learned that stealing was not the way to feed himself while lying low. Following the scent of food to the nearest diner, he began searching the trash can perimeter. People were always dumping half-eaten burgers and bags of fries. Maybe he'd get lucky.  
  
Plunging his hand into the bin, Connor grimaced as it hit something squelchy and wet. Withdrawing his fingers from the offending article, he wiped the pink milkshake muck onto his jeans. He was hungry, true, but this was ridiculous; he was a resourceful guy so there must be other options. Most stores were shut for the night, Wesley's apartment was out, so what about returning to the Hyperion? No, too risky. Given the fragile relations between Wesley and his former crew, Angel and co wouldn't stay at his place long. They'd probably head straight back to the hotel to think up more ways to make Connor's life a living hell. That did not leave him a whole lot of options...except The Cage. Fax was probably wondering where the hell he had got to and, now that everything had quietened down, Connor's mind turned to claiming his share of the winnings for tonight's fight. God knows he had earned it this time. If his time playing for Angel's team had taught him anything, it was that someone always enforced a cautious approach. He probably had at least a couple of hours before the hot-headed Gunn suggested they return to the club and ask a few questions or tear off a few limbs.  
  
**********  
  
"I say we take some time to regroup. We were grossly outnumbered tonight," Cordelia noted, firmly.   
  
"Yes, and the quicker we get back to the club and take them out, the less time they have to outnumber us any worse. They could be pooling demon resources as we speak." Angel looked grim, his mind still with Connor and the hurtful things he had said. The whole situation was compounded by the knowledge that his own son could be dying on the streets somewhere when their last words together were spoken in anger.  
  
Wesley had barely spoken a word since Connor had run off, but now his voice of reason and surprising humanity piped up. "Don't you think Connor is the highest priority here? We still haven't found an antidote for the poison."  
  
Fred asked, "But he's immune."  
  
Wesley sighed, "He appears to be... but we can't be sure until we see him. It might just need more of a gestation period in his body. His immune system will be fighting it but a demon of that species would have enough venom in one touch to bring down a foe ten times his own size. The outcome would be the same but the symptoms would take longer to come into effect."  
  
Gunn, ever ready to contradict his rival-in-love, pointed out, "But you said the demon was some kind of hybrid. What's to say the poison isn't a hybrid as well? We could spend hours cooking up stinky herbs and frogs' legs only to discover it wouldn't make the damned bit of difference."  
  
Angel wanted to be out in the field. He couldn't stand all this waiting around and inaction. The mutual volley of insults thrown between him and Connor simply tumbled through his head, repeating itself over and over again in agonising detail. The course of action was clear to him. "We need to get back to the crime scene, get some of the poison or identify the corpse properly. Gunn, you ready?"  
  
Gunn was already reaching for his weapons when Cordelia stood up. "Oh yeah, because they're just gonna fling the doors open when they see their two favourite trouble makers strolling up armed to the hilt."  
  
Gunn opened his arms in a gesture of defeat. "So what are you suggesting we do?"  
  
"Yeah, Cordy, we don't have any other options." Angel did not want to back down. He wanted to get out of that door and quit all this talking in circles.  
  
Cordelia stared them both down. "I know you guys are itching for a fight, but it would be much better if Fred or I went there. We could turn on the charm while still actually achieving the goal. Meanwhile, Wesley could be getting the ingredients needed for the cure he's already found."  
  
Wesley nodded, "Chances are, even if this poison has been mutated, the essential ingredients will be the same."  
  
Cordelia felt a swell of pride that she was finally making herself useful again. "Right. You see? That's what I call a plan."  
  
Angel gritted his teeth in annoyance. "And where exactly do I fit into your plan, Cordy?"  
  
Oblivious to the obvious chill in her employer's voice, she sighed. "Well, I know you don't think this is a great idea, I suggest you look for Connor. After all, this whole mission is no use without the patient."  
  
"Didn't I already give a perfectly legitimate reason for not going after him?"  
  
Cordelia stood her ground. "What? That feeble excuse about only chasing him further? Angel, admit it - he cut you to the bone and I think the effect was mutual. You might be angry, upset, hurt..."  
  
"I can think of a few other words to describe..." Angel murmured.  
  
"Put it away, Angel! Look at the bigger picture! Your son is out there alone, possibly in great pain, and you aren't even interested in tracking him down? I don't believe that. Besides, you're the only one of us who could cover the same kind of ground as Connor. Beat him into submission if you have to, but get him back here. If Gunn takes all the regular haunts, then the pair of you should have the city more or less covered." Cordelia clapped her hands together in contentment. "So, what are you all waiting for? Get your butts moving!"  
  
Like soldiers responding to their drill sergeant, the group leapt into action, grabbing coats, weapons, car keys, books and heading out of the door.  
  
**********  
  
Meanwhile, across town, Connor had stumbled into The Cage, sweating dripping from his brow. He could barely believe any of this was happening to him. He had never felt so sick in all his life, in fact he had never even run a headache before. Another spasm squeezed his stomach tight forcing him to double over, clinging to the wall beside the back door. His reason for pushing on, desperate for food, had completely left him now. It took all his energy just to stand up straight and he couldn't let Fax see him so sick. He might not let him fight again. Then again, if he was dead, there wouldn't be much chance of making any more money in the ring anyway.  
  
Pushing off from the wall, Connor took a steadying breath and stepped through the door of the club. The acrid smell of stale cigarette smoke and spilt drinks permeated everything, only serving to make the boy feel even more nauseous. He focused through bleary eyes on Fax's office door which was standing ajar a few feet away. "Fax?"  
  
The rough man was sitting behind his desk reading the sports section of a national newspaper and looked up in surprise at the thin voice so nearby. "Kid! Where did you skip off to? I was starting to think you did a runner on me...then I remembered you still didn't have the green stuff! Here." He opened his drawer and passed across a wad of high denomination dollar bills. Connor accepted them with a trembling hand, managing a small smile of appreciation. Fax frowned, "Hey, kid, are you okay? You're looking a bit peaky there."  
  
Connor nodded, regretting the sharp pain the sudden movement had created in his head. "I'm fine."  
  
Fax nodded, knowing better than to ask more questions. This was one business where everyone was as shady as their neighbour. Too much information only led to painful torture or suspicious clients. Changing tact, he asked, "Listen, kid, I've got a proposition for you."  
  
Connor leaned heavily on the edge of the desk. "A proposition?"  
  
"You're happy here, right? Working for me?"  
  
Connor started to nod then thought better of it. "Why?"  
  
Fax grinned. "You're a canny one, kid! You think this is the big shot? Well, it's not. I'm just a feeder club. You ever heard of the Necrodome?"  
  
"The what?" Connor managed, blood surging through his head and thundering through his airs until he could barely hear.  
  
Fax carried on, regardless of the rapidly paling face of his companion. "The Necrodome. It's the biggest fighting club you've ever seen. I mean, clients of the highest order pay out literally millions of dollars and dimensional currency a night on the fights there! Can you imagine how much money you'd make in a place like that? The only difference is that you have to sign a contract."  
  
Connor breathed a sigh of relief as the world stopped spinning once more and he could feel his heartbeat gradually evening out once more. "Contract? Contract to fight? What's the catch?"  
  
Fax laughed, heartily. "You a lawyer in your last life?! Kid, I swear the rules are no different to what we've got here. Simple stuff, standard protocol - basic rules of the game, you know."  
  
"I thought there weren't any rules."  
  
"Hah! Exactly. It's just for the punters sake really, stuff about not throwing the fights, so there can't be any underhand dealings. It's got to be fair play. I mean, imagine losing millions because a fighter was playing for the dark side. Hey, I've got one here for you, if you'd just sign it."  
  
"How long is the contract for?" Connor asked.  
  
"Oh, it has to be renewed every year, but of course, if you don't like what you see, you can get out sooner. It's just got to be negotiated." Fax was practically drooling at the prospect of getting Angel's son on his side. It was no secret how much the vampire hated his son being involved in this, but once the kid signed a contract, nothing stood between Fax and pure, unadulterated revenge.   
  
Connor began to read the small print on the paper in front of him, but he could feel a second onslaught of nausea returning and he just stared blankly at the words, letting his own guidance be his judge. Angel had made it pretty clear how he felt and Connor wanted nothing more than to spite him in every way possible. He had never asked his father to watch his back or give him support. He had simply wanted the vampire out of his life once and for all. This was his 'get out of jail free' card. Taking the pen proffered to him, he shakily signed his name at the foot of the page, just as a severe pain plundered his abdomen. Letting out a cry of pain, Connor fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.  
  
Fax was by his side in an instant. "Kid, you okay? What's the matter?"  
  
Connor's breath came in short, ragged gasps. "The demon...tongue..."  
  
"Jesus! Tonight at the fight? Why didn't you say something? This contract won't be worth shit if you're dead."  
  
Connor desperately wanted to away from Los Angeles, to have this chance. He would get the antidote, no matter what hardship it took. "I know where to get it...just take me there. Please..." His eyes were begging and Fax really wanted to give Angel what he deserved in its glorious entirety. He needed the kid alive.   
  
"Sure thing, kiddo." Supporting the teenager, he helped him out to the van and back towards Wesley's apartment. Neither of them saw a car draw up a few parking spaces away from them and Cordelia get out, heading for the main door of the club.  
  
***********  
  
END OF CHAPTER 8 


	9. Chapter 9

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS   
  
By Allegra  
  
See Part One for disclaimers etc.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, I know there are no excuses, except perhaps being in traction for months on end, to get me out of how long this has taken to write. Call it stress and be done with it. I really hope you guys haven't given up on me! Thank you sooooo much to the people who e-mailed & bugged me. Your threats were very moving. I hope this part doesn't disappoint too much, especially at 11 pages long!!  
  
CHAPTER 9  
  
Californian rain pattered onto the ground around Connor as he conjured up his dwindling strength to lever himself out of the passenger seat of Fax's beaten up chevrolet. Wesley's apartment block loomed ominously above him in the darkness and the sheer angle gave it a precarious appearance, as if it were about to tumble down on top of the hapless teenager. "What you waiting for, kid?" Fax grumbled from the driver's side.  
  
Connor moved towards the front door as acknowledgement, using too much of his quickly expendable energy just to propel his legs onwards. He raised one shaking finger to the intercom and took shelter under the narrow porch roof. The action was done before the teenager had a chance to repent of it. His bruised ego could just about handle seeing Wesley, probably Fred, Cordelia at a push. Even then, she would be full of 'I told you so's' and mollycoddling he could do without. Gunn would be insufferable and treat him like some stupid wayward child who needed a good spanking rather than proper aid. Most of all, though, it was Angel who inspired the most grief in Connor's poison-addled brain. One word, no, make that one glance, from his father was more than the young man could bear right now. As if they hadn't argued their way through their entire relationship, the same old crap had to be brought up time and again but nearly always publicly. Until tonight, though, rarely had Connor been at such a disadvantage - beaten, poisoned and generally taken unawares by the gang's arrival at The Cage. If there was one paragraph in a chapter of his life Connor would appreciate distancing himself from, it was arguing with Angel earlier in the night.  
  
"Hello?" Wesley's confident voice came through the intercom, laced with a morsel of suspicion.   
  
"It's Connor." He was greeted with silence and for a moment the teenager wondered if Wesley was going to let him in at all. Then, just as he was about to leave, the buzzer sounded like an angry bee stuck behind a curtain and the front door swung open readily against his bruised knuckles.   
  
The elevator was slow coming and Connor found himself leaning heavily against the adjacent wall just to keep himself upright. He tried closing his eyes briefly to dispel the stars dancing before them but he felt even worse, as if he were spiralling down into a black well. He still struggling to reorient himself when the shrill bell signalled the arrival of the elevator and Connor dragged himself into it, sinking gratefully down onto the floor as he hit the button for the correct floor.   
  
After what felt like an age, the doors slid open and he staggered towards Wesley's door sitting ajar a few yards away. As if the sight of sanctuary so nearly within reach, it was all the youngster could do to get down the hall where he practically fell into Wesley's waiting arms.  
  
"Connor! Come on, let's get you on the couch." Strong arms guided the teenager towards the cushioned comfort of the lounge area. Without protest, Connor lay back and Wesley arranged his leaden limbs before drawing a blanket over him. The older man resisted the urge to ask him where he had been for the past hours. The youngster's face was ashen, skin clammy with the heat of infection. Already, his mouth moved to form fractured words and thoughts as delusional fever claimed him.   
  
Wesley prayed that the others found some trace which would help create an effective antidote swiftly. When it came to demonic infections, there was no diagnosing how far along the line between life and death a victim lay. Someone could be perfectly healthy one second and dead the next, sweating one moment, apparently well the next and dead just when the worst appeared to be over. In the middle of his musings, Connor's glazed eyes opened and he spoke. "Where are they?"  
  
"Getting the antidote."  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Looking for you." Connor's brow furrowed at this and Wesley assured him, "He wouldn't give up on you, Connor. He cares more than you know. It'll be all right, this will all be over soon."  
  
Connor's eyes closed and fluttered open a moment later; he shook his head. "I've just got to get..."  
  
Wesley leaned closer as the teenager's voice grew fainter and less coherent. "What have you got to do? Connor?"  
  
"Get well...to fight again..." It was evident that the boy had no real grasp on what he was saying; there was no defensive posturing, just plain speaking as if he were simply telling Wesley the most innocent fact. Based on the chastisement he had endured earlier, Connor would have been wily enough to avoid giving his plans away if it were possible. The fact that he had been so honest was only testament to his frail health.  
  
Acknowledging this fact, Wesley chose to let the matter pass. Nothing good would be gained from grilling the teenager when he could barely remain conscious. He moved to the kitchen sink for a glass of water and returned to Connor's side. The best he could hope for was to help boost his immune system by flushing toxins out, "Drink this," he commanded gently and shifted a feebly protesting Connor into a half sitting position. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Connor eyed the older man as if he were completely crazy. "How do you think?"  
  
Wesley smiled grimly at his return to form. "Describe the symptoms to me."  
  
"Kind of woozy, I guess, my head is pounding. Cold..."  
  
"Well, I sent Fred for supplies just after you left. She should be back soon then we can get started on the antidote." Connor nodded in feeble acknowledgement. He wanted to sleep, regardless of whatever poison was slowly eating away at his insides but Wesley's voice brought him insistently back to reality.  
  
"Connor, if you need help getting out of this...predicament...just tell me."   
  
Connor's eyes flew open, the old fire still burning in their depths. "No! I don't want any help."  
  
"Except to make you fit to fight again? Connor, I know I don't need to give you a list of reasons not to do this, but aren't there better ways to live your life?"  
  
The teenager rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, massaging away another onslaught of dizziness. "I don't plan on doing this forever."  
  
Wesley nodded, already seeing the first step on a very dangerous path. "Are you sure you're going to be able to get out when you choose to?"  
  
"Hey, if I don't fight, what else can they do? Leave me in the cage to die?!" He spoke the words in half jest but the expression settling on Wesley's face told him the idea was not entirely preposterous. "They wouldn't do that. Besides, I could break my way out whenever I felt like it. No one can take me."  
  
Wesley's brow furrowed into a frown of concern. "Connor," his voice pleadingly tinged, willing the boy to come to his senses. "Far be it from me to patronise you or tell you what to do, but you haven't lived here very long and..."  
  
"And what?" came the defensive reply.  
  
"Well, there are some areas where you lack expertise and experience. Getting involved with those sorts of people inevitably leads to misery. They are only ever on the look-out for number one. When the chips are down, your welfare won't figure anywhere in their plans."   
  
"I know that. You think I'm looking out for them?" Connor's angry glared subsided into something which more closely resembled gratitude for the Englishman's concern. "But maybe you're right. I didn't want to be in the game that much longer anyway. It's just..."  
  
"Just...?" Wesley inquired, aware that he was balancing on a fine precipice, teetering between reeling Connor back into the fold and tipping him off the edge into an abyss of back stabbing and grief.  
  
"Just Fax, the guy I'm working for. He was the one who brought me here." The teenager affected nonchalance but that in itself was enough to make Wesley suspicious. "We kind of made a deal before he'd bring me."  
  
Wesley's heart sank with the terrible notion of what Connor had got himself into. "A contract?"  
  
"Kind of, I guess."  
  
"Did you sign something?" Wesley asked, carefully concealing the deeper threat he felt looming, depending on the boy's answer.  
  
Connor thought for a moment. "I can't remember. I don't think so...but maybe."  
  
Wesley closed his eyes in a moment of contemplation. It didn't take a genius to know that placing one's signature on a document proffered by a demon of any variety was not a wise move. It reeked of repayment, eternal burning in the fires of hell and hooded wraiths appearing at the foot of the bed with demands and scythes. Slowly, returning his gaze to the rapidly fading teenager on his sofa, Wesley cleared his throat uncertainly and asked, "Does this Fax think that you have an agreement?"  
  
Connor nodded, instantly regretting the rapidity of the action when his head spun with unwelcome force. Wesley sighed inwardly in relief. "Well, that bides us some time at least. If he doesn't suspect anything then we should be okay here until you have recovered. Then, when you're well, we can deal with the situation."  
  
"No, I can handle this..." Connor struggled to force the words from his lips as the poison claimed another organ in his frail body. "I don't want Angel..." but the words died on his lips and the white knuckled fingers which clutched at Wesley's sleeve limply unfurled and fell to the sofa.  
  
"Connor?" Wesley placed his head against the youngster's chest and was relieved to hear the heart beating fairly strongly, albeit erratically. He just prayed that Cordelia and Fred made it back with a poison sample and antidote ingredients before his condition worsened.  
  
**********  
  
Fax Torrance had been sitting in his car for nearly half an hour before it dawned on him that it might easily be another four or five before the Kid emerged from that apartment block. He considered wandering up there to find him or perhaps just drive off, especially since Fax had no idea which apartment the kid had gone to.  
  
However, being the suspicious kind of guy that he was, he couldn't contain his curiosity, or rather mistrust, of anything new and unknown so Fax headed for the fire escape staircase which snaked up from the refuge area behind the block. He moved as quietly as his clunky boots against metal mesh would allow in order to listen out for any signs of his charge. One of the large sash windows stood open on the second floor so the robust man checked that the coast was clear before easing himself through the window frame and into a rather plush bedroom. On any other occasion, he would have taken advantage of being in such a fortuitous position; there were certainly a fair few items worth stealing from this pad. Perhaps his hosts would be gracious enough to leave their window open another night for him. Right now, there were more pressing matters to deal with.  
  
Keeping a careful watch on the glow of the television screen in the adjacent room, Fax slid into the hallway and exited the front door onto a line of apartment doors. Taking a left turn, he quickly came across one front door which was flung open with no apparent care for the kind of strangers who might wander past. Peering round the frame, Fax was pleasantly surprised to find that his work was done. The kid was lying, face ashen, asleep on the couch. Sounds could be heard from the kitchen of someone getting water.  
  
He waited, scoping the scene out fully before considering entering. One could never be too careful and the older man had lost his desire to be in the middle of the fray long ago. His tool was patience, lulling victims before administering a fatal strike. Tonight's dealings would be no different.  
  
The Kid looked no greater than his stage name suggested, an innocent child, one hand clasped lightly against his chest, following the gentle rise and fall of his rib cage. For a moment, Fax enjoyed the calm sight before him with almost fatherly interest. His family were long in their graves, their flesh no more than food for the bellies of scavengers. Even their bones would be little more than dust now. There would never be a future in his name; the line ended when Angel tore them from him.  
  
Ironic, then, that as Fax's gaze settled on Connor's peaceful face, all he felt was a swell of warmth and pride. This was a boy worth a man's time and hard work – a worthy successor to everything Fax had built. That it was Angelus' own offspring was a briar rose, bitter sweet. The Kid could be a constant reminder of all which had been scooped out of Fax's soul but he could also become like a son to him. What better revenge to wreak on the demon who had stolen so much and felt no remorse? A small smile crept across the aged man's face.  
  
A second later, a man appeared beside the sofa with a glass of water and gently manoeuvred the boy into a semi-sitting position, murmuring words of encouragement. Fax couldn't help a grin at the indefatigable defiance in the younger man's voice. Even weakened by fever and poison, the Kid remained undiminished in his angry rhetoric. Fax listened with interest to the exchange between the two younger men, his ear quickly adjusting to the clipped tones of the Englishman. There was a tangible energy between the two, as if something deeply affecting had passed between them sometime earlier and the Kid listened to the older man's words with an interest Fax had not seen in him before. In fact, for the first time in Fax's presence, Connor ceded way with the deference of a son to a father he both respected but defied.  
  
Quickly though, the conversation turned from Connor's health and lifestyle choices to a theme Fax found less enthralling. The Englishman was clearly trying to dissuade the Kid from returning to The Cage and fighting. At first, the boy wasn't swayed, but whether it was his weakened state or some deeper influence, Fax could hear the uncertainty in his voice. If he did not step in soon, Connor would try to run or worse – he would gather a small but potent army of comrades to extricate him from an eternal contract. It would always end the same way but Fax preferred to avoid a confrontation if possible. The Englishman would tire of his vigil soon enough and he would have his chance. Patience.  
  
Sure enough, the Kid was soon unconscious. Fax considered leaving the boy where he was clearly safe until this antidote they referred to saved him a job or two. Then again, if the Englishman persuaded Connor to leave fighting, he would be tackling an unbeaten champion of the ring. Weak and sick, the Kid posed no problem. But, the antidote was his entire reason for bringing the boy back to his friends. He would be no use dead. No, patience could have been tattooed across his forehead for the help it provided. It seemed to be the solution to everything, even wreaking his revenge on Angelus.  
  
**********  
  
Wesley waited as patiently as his racing brain would allow for Angel and the others to return. His emotions alternated between a state of calm rationality and terror for what the future might hold. A dam of feelings which had remained dormant inside him for months was waking up with every glance over at the fragile boy sleeping on his sofa.   
  
He knew only too well how his friends felt towards him – unsettled and uncertain. They recognised the change in him after his betrayal, their betrayal. He was a changed man, all because of Connor's entrance into his life. Yet, stranger than reason, a bond stronger than he could ever have imagined existed between the two. Wesley knew Connor felt it, too. Both had garnered the respect of the other, something Angel had never succeeded in achieving with his son. Wesley had rarely made any demands on Connor; in fact, their relationship was primarily based on remaining a dignified distance from one another.  
  
Now, there was a very real chance Connor would be lost to them forever. Somehow, the Englishman had always been prepared for the possibility of losing any of his friends in battle – particularly Connor. With his enthusiasm and heady energy for blood letting, it was only a matter of time before the odds got the better of him. The prospect of the teenager dying in an apartment from poisoning was something Wesley had been unprepared for. Foolish really, after all, death was death no matter what colour you painted it.  
  
By the time he had escaped his reverie, Wesley found himself kneeling beside the young invalid, his brow furrowed in concern. He watched the erratic rise and fall of Connor's chest and heard the rasping breaths heaved in. Where was Angel?  
  
**********  
  
Cordelia wiped her hands distastefully on a tissue, studying the viscous liquid still clinging to her fingertips with an element of gross fascination. It had been quite a while since she could last remember having to wash her hands, quite literally, of a demon's blood – or was this his innards? She stood up smartly, not allowing her brain to proceed any further along that particular train of thought. Her mission was complete.   
  
Using her feminine wiles to get back into the scuzzy club had been the easy part. In fact, it had felt good to exercise those attributes Cordelia had put aside in favour of warrior queen antics for so long. She had flashed a convincing smile, flattered the ugly mugs in front of her. Hell, she had even given them a rare glimpse of the wiggle as she strode across the club's hall to the central cage. Buffy would probably have sneered at her for setting women's lib back a step or two but somehow it had given Cordy the boost she needed.  
  
So much had happened in the past few months, losing her memory being a pretty big part of it, and there was something incredibly reassuring about rediscovering an aspect of herself which she had grown up using. The Cordy of Los Angeles was a far cry from the snob of Sunnydale. In some ways, she had been afraid that when her memory returned, the recent Cordy would be the only one left. Whatever person she had been earlier in life would have been discarded on the journey as unimportant. It felt good to know all the bits of her still existed. Plus, of course, they had the desired effect on the club's owners. She had retrieved demon goo with no trouble whatsoever.  
  
Tottering back across the arena space with her smile fixed firmly in place, Cordelia prayed she could get back out of the place intact. She was almost as far as the door when a shadow fell across her path. Ignoring the sudden palpitation in her chest, Cordy looked up breezily into the face of a particularly ugly biker with what appeared to be two black eyes and a couple of missing teeth.   
  
"Leaving already, darlin'? How's about a drink for the road with me?"  
  
Cordy hoped her nerves didn't show. "That's really sweet but my boyfriend's waiting just outside…"  
  
The biker glanced distractedly towards the rear door. "I didn't see no one with ya."  
  
"No, well, he doesn't like crowds." Her mind raced over possible stories to lever out of this.  
  
"Sounds like a pussy to me."  
  
"No, no, he's really strong and muscular and dark and kind of broody…" Cordy's voice tailed off as she realised the man she was describing. A small frown flickered across her face.  
  
"I think you're lyin' to me. Come on now, I ain't going to bite. Just one drink."  
  
Cordy snapped out of her momentary reverie. "Actually, he got chucked out of this place, banned, for rioting and smashing glasses and stuff. But I swear, if he hears me scream, he'll be in here like a shot. You won't know what hit you if you lay a finger on me!" She wished her voice hadn't hit that unnecessary high note at the end. It only made her look even more petrified, an even easier target.  
  
"Whose talkin' 'bout fingers being laid? I'm just askin' you to join me for a drink."  
  
"I think the lady made it pretty clear she wasn't interested." The familiar gravely voice made Cordelia's heart quicken for a moment as relief poured into her. She moved instinctively backwards to the shelter of her saviour's sturdy frame.  
  
Angel's hand moved protectively across her back in reassurance but his eyes remained fixed on the biker in front of him. It still astounded Cordelia how he could give out all the protection and comfort she could ask for while he simultaneously struck fear deep into the core of any aggressor. It was like his friends could only see the man in him but a foe was given a momentary glimpse of the demon hibernating inside.   
  
The biker cut his losses. "Hey man, I didn't mean no harm. I didn't know she was with someone…I just…" His frightened eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route. They found one and the man began to back away, stumbling on broken bottle shards strewn around the floor. Angel merely held his gaze with cold detachment until the biker finally turned and fled from the establishment.  
  
Angel turned to his recovering charge. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was handling that, you know." Cordelia pulled away from his touch, unwilling to acknowledge she had been on the losing side of that particular exchange. "I got the poison. Did you find Connor?"  
  
Angel shook his head, not giving away one iota of emotion. "No. I lost his scent somewhere round LaBrea."  
  
"Well, we should get this gunk back to Wesley's so he can fix up an antidote. I'm sure Connor will show up soon enough. He may be headstrong but he's not stupid. He knows that venom could kill him."  
  
"I hope you're right," was all Angel said in response as he held the door open for her.  
  
**********  
  
Cordelia and Angel returned to the apartment in low spirits. Only one part of the mission had been accomplished and try as she might to make Angel feel better about the situation, Cordy had to admit the truth. Connor might not return of his own volition. She couldn't even begin to imagine how awful that prospect must seem to Angel. Their last words had been spoken in anger and nobody would be able to rectify that.  
  
"Guys, I've got the sample…" she began, glancing towards the kitchen where Fred and Wesley were unpacking various stinky herbs from paper bags. Then, Cordy's gaze drifted over to the fragile form of Angel's son resting on the couch. "Oh my God, Connor! You found him!"  
  
Wesley lowered his voice considerably, prompting her to do the same. "He found us actually. He's very weak. I don't know how much longer he's got. We'll have to work fast."  
  
Cordelia nodded, moving towards the sofa and running a gentle hand over the boy's heated forehead. Angel stood motionless in the doorway, his eyes strangely detached and distant. For a moment his hand rested on the door frame then fell to his side where his fingers twitched uselessly. It was clear what he wanted – to take his son in his arms, to protect him, to save him. But there was nothing he could do aside from wait. Wesley and Fred were the experts in the book and potion department and Cordy was the bedside manner. He was the one they called on to risk his life in a fight, to bring some action to the scene. Besides, Angel knew in his heart, Connor wanted nothing more than his father's absence. Opening his fevered eyes to Angel's face would do nothing to help him survive.   
  
He caught Cordelia's pleading expression and she whispered, "Angel, why don't you sit with him for a while?"  
  
Angel swallowed hard, biting back the sudden panic which was taking hold. Strange that when confronted with a demon of immeasurable size, he harboured no fear, but faced with his own ailing son, he was rendered powerless over his own emotions.   
  
Cordelia's voice was insistent. "Angel…"  
  
He took one step after another leadenly forward, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could say if Connor opened his eyes. Cordy moved aside to make room for him beside his son's head, releasing the boy's pale, bony hand onto the blanket. Angel made no move to take it in his own but his dark eyes were fixed on the drained face below him, a picture of fragility.  
  
Cordelia desperately wanted to force him to make that small gesture of affection but she knew it was not her place. Angel's relationship with his son was complex to say the least and it would take many years of healing to move forward. Both men had their guards up, separating them completely from one another except by words or violence – neither of which incited them to trust.  
  
"How's it looking?" she asked Fred, purposely distracting herself from the frustrating scene.   
  
Fred pulled an uncertain face. "Unfortunately, Wesley was right about it being a hybrid poison. We've made a few adjustments to the antidote but there's no guarantee it'll work."  
  
Wesley tried a more assuring version. "I'm quite confident. During my time as a rogue demon hunter, I came across several venoms for which I had no antidote. My access to books was limited so I was forced to devise my own versions. Some were more successful than others. I remember suffering from those boils for nearly…. Anyway, the point is that I've had some practice. Even if it doesn't work completely, hopefully it will bide us enough time to find the true purging mixture we need."  
  
Fred looked at him dreamily for a second, caught up in his academic words. "You were a rogue demon hunter? By yourself?"   
  
"When my job as Watcher was terminated, I could hardly leave my calling. I simply had to find my own way of dealing with the monsters put before me. It wasn't as attractive as it might sound." Wesley held Fred's gaze for a moment, enjoying the attention while Gunn wasn't looking over his shoulder. Speaking of which… "Where is Gunn?"  
  
Fred averted her gaze, sheepishly. "Maybe I should try his cell. He's probably still looking for Connor." She reached for the phone and punched in her boyfriend's number. Wesley tried to be engrossed in grinding some amerita root into a fine powder for dissolving but he couldn't help but overhear the conversation. Gunn's voice was raised above normal speaking volume and, from the sound of it, he was exasperated. Fred tried to calm him and told him Connor had found his way back to the apartment. Gunn sounded both relieved and a little pissed. He didn't like wasting his time. Wesley felt a slight pleasure thrill course through him at the way his rival spoke to Fred – hardly treating her the way he would do if she were his.  
  
Fred put down the receiver and caught Wesley's eye. He cleared his throat uncertainly. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"He's on his way back." Fred's hands slid reflexively into the pockets of her jeans, forcing her shoulders up into a tense, hunched position which reminded Wesley of a child about to be chastised.  
  
"If we boil up some water, the mixture will be diluted enough for Connor to drink…if he's able."  
  
**********  
  
"Thanks for the heads up, guys!" Gunn blurted out, angrily, as he entered the apartment. "How long were you here before you decided to let me in on the big party?"  
  
Fred moved towards him and relieved Gunn of the axe he was toting. "Charles, we only just got back ourselves."  
  
Wesley stepped in once more. "Forgive us if Connor's health was higher on the list of priorities than you walking the streets of Los Angeles alone."  
  
Gunn opened his mouth to retort but Cordelia silenced him with an angry glare. "If you don't stop whinging and start helping, you'll understand exactly why we didn't bother calling you. Here…" She handed him a pestle and mortar containing a stinky yellow mixture. "…mix that. My arm's killing me."  
  
Within five minutes, the full potion was complete and the apartment smelled about as rank as a pig's backside, but at least the group had achieved something. Wesley put the finishing touches to the substance with a chant and healing crystals. Then, with bated breath, the group watched as the Englishman knelt carefully beside Connor.   
  
Supporting the boy's head, Wes tilted the glass of pungent liquid towards his mouth. A small frown passed over Connor's brow but his lips parted weakly to receive the antidote. "That's it," Wesley whispered. "Just a bit more." The youngster was no more than halfway through when his hand moved to cover Wesley's wrist, forcing the glass away from his lips.   
  
He spluttered, "No more…"  
  
Wesley forced the glass closer again. "Connor, it's vital that you drink it all." Connor's eyes opened a fraction, fixing Wesley with an ever-suspicious, mistrustful watch. "Connor…" the older man began, his tone verging on chastisement. No sooner had the word left his mouth than Connor drew himself laboriously into a sitting position and drained the last of the foul mixture, grimacing as he did so. He fell back panting as Wesley examined the dregs to ensure all the essential nutrients had been ingested. "Good."  
  
Angel uncrossed his arms where they had rested defensively. "So what happens now?"  
  
Wesley looked from Connor to the patient group around him. "Now we wait…and just pray this concoction does its job properly."  
  
"Great," Cordelia sighed, rearranging herself on the adjacent chair and plumping up the cushion. To the unknowing eye, she might have appeared uncaring but to her friends, it was clear she was only trying to hide her nervousness. But she was not the only one trying to save face. Over the next few hours, little was said but to a casual observer the scene would have been perfectly average. Everyone was engrossed in their own little activity – flicking through magazines, washing up, polishing weapons. It was only the atmosphere which could have been cut with a knife that gave anything away as to the gravity of the situation.  
  
Occasionally, Wesley would check Connor's pulse, hoping for some sign that the teenager was on the mend. If the antidote was working at all, it was working slowly. It was approaching the third hour when Connor stirred and Wesley's hand reached for his wrist again. "Connor? How are you feeling?"   
  
Before the boy had a chance to answer, Angel was at his side, anxious and paler than usual. "Son? Thank God you're awake. Are you feeling better?"  
  
If the teenager had been able to move any further away from his father, he would have been down the back of the sofa, but he could only put on his usual bravado. "Yeah, I'm feeling better. Thanks." The last word was directed pointedly at Wesley and the Englishman returned a half smile, aware of how Connor's words cut Angel to the quick. "It wasn't just me…" he offered weakly.  
  
**********  
  
By the close of the evening, everyone's mood had lightened considerably, even Gunn was cracking jokes in spite of his foul mood earlier. Fred, ever concerned about the welfare of her stomach, offered to get in some food and even Connor managed to eat a startling amount of noodles given the fragile state of his health. Finally, it was decided that everyone should go their separate ways for the night but that Connor would stay at Wesley's, under the watchful eye of someone who best knew how to counter attack any unexpected relapses.  
  
Angel had been reluctant to leave his son's side, even when it was quite clear Connor didn't want him there. "Wes…" he began.  
  
"I'll call you if anything happens. Go home, get some rest. We could all do with some."  
  
"Okay, but…"  
  
Wesley clapped a hand across his friend's shoulder, a gesture he had not done since before Connor was born. "Angel, just go. I'll take good care of him."  
  
But, as in all things, there was no guarantee. Connor was no safer with Wesley now than he had been all those months ago. Someone was waiting for this moment, someone who had made a bargain he intended to see through, and nobody was going to get in the way of it. It was only a matter of time – of waiting patiently for an hour or so more, of creeping in that door with a handkerchief of chloroform and quietly slinging the Kid's light body over his shoulder. A bargain had been struck and Fax was a man of his word and by the first light of dawn, Connor was gone.  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 9 


	10. Chapter 10

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS  
  
By Allegra  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers etc.  
  
PART 10  
  
The weather couldn't have been more appropriate for the occasion. Rain beat down like gravel on the heads of a small, discreet gathering under a highway bridge in downtown. Only Cordelia had spared a thought long enough to bring a hooded coat with her. The absence of hair and a tough jacket left him fairly intact and even Fred had somehow managed to deflect much of the downpour. It was Wesley who had come off the worst, in every sense of the word. Bedraggled and soaked to the core, his icy fingers clutched a map of the city, different regions circled and hot spots marked with a red pen which was already bleeding across the page.  
  
"Did someone check out the observatory?" Gunn enquired, helpfully.  
  
Cordelia pulled a grim face. "I did. Nada."  
  
"Don't you think we should tell Angel? He's the only one of us who..." Fred began.  
  
Wesley darted her a determined look. "No Angel. We'll find him...on our own."  
  
Fred shrunk under the glare but continued, "Wesley, he could track Connor by scent. We have nothing to go on..."  
  
Once more, Wesley cut her short, striding towards the car. "Let's move on to the next region. There's still a few places to try."  
  
Cordelia exchanged a defeated look with Gunn but chose to follow silently rather than kick up a fuss. The panic emanating off the Englishman was almost enough to set her off but he deserved a few more minutes of co-operation before she insisted they tell Angel. Just when they were close to putting past events behind them once and for all, Wesley's loyalty was once again thrown into question. He had made a deal with Holtz less than a year before, so was Cordelia wrong to question his motives now? Yes. She liked to go on gut instinct. Just as she had known Buffy Summers was trouble with her bad hair and terrible nails, Cordy knew that Wesley had always harboured the best intentions. True, they had got him into trouble on more than one occasion, and this was one of them, but he had never wanted to hurt Angel.   
  
The four subdued figures climbed into Wesley's SUV, lost in their own thoughts as they headed for the next dispersal site.  
  
**********  
  
"Charles..."  
  
"The answer's no."  
  
"What do you mean 'no'? You don't even know what I was going to ask," Fred said, indignantly.  
  
Gunn turned back to his girlfriend. "You were going to ask if we should call Angel and tell him that Connor's missing. And the answer's 'no'."  
  
Fred pursed her lips, sheepishly. "You're siding with Wesley?" she ventured.  
  
Gunn pulled himself up straighter. "What's so wrong about that?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe something to do with the fact that you hate Wesley's guts. I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to..."  
  
"To what? Tell on him? I'm not in kindergarten anymore, Fred. Sure, Wes and I aren't on the best of terms right now but... but this could have happened to any of us." His voice softened.  
  
Fred smiled, "So you guys are going to make up?"  
  
Gunn eyed her for a moment and toyed with his axe distractedly. "No, I don't think so. Until he takes his beady eyes off my girl for a while, we're going to have a problem. I ain't doing this for Wesley."  
  
Fred frowned, confused. "But you just said it could have happened to anyone."  
  
"Yeah, it could, but Angel's been through enough in the past few months. He deserves an easy time of it and we're going to give it to him. Besides, it might be raining but the sun's still shining so unless he fancies helping Connor by getting vampire ash in his eyes, he's no use to us anyway."  
  
Fred continued walking, following the grubby alley way to the next block. "Fine, just another few hours though. Connor could be miles away by then. Angel's going to flip if we haven't told him." That particular argument over with, Fred's mind wandered to the more sensitive subject of Wesley's relationship with Gunn, herself and, well, pretty much everyone at Angel Investigations. "Charles?"  
  
"Yes?" he replied, drawing out the vowel with deliberate wariness.   
  
"Don't you think it's about time you eased up on Wesley a bit? I mean, after everything he's been through..."  
  
"You mean losing Connor - twice? Yeah, my heart bleeds for the guy."  
  
"He made a mistake!" Fred battled on.  
  
Gunn turned on her, eyes blazing. "It's more than that, Fred! The way he looks at you sometimes...it makes me want to throttle him. It's like he thinks he's better than me. I don't trust him!"  
  
Fred's expression changed from mild offence at her boyfriend's raised tone to something closer resembling anger. "And what about me? Do you trust me, Charles?! I'm the one in the middle here. It takes two to break you and me apart."  
  
"You think so?" Gunn's voice was quiet and deadly.  
  
Fred felt a surge of irritation mounting inside her chest. "Do you really think I'm that weak? That I'd let someone dominate me against my will? Because if that's true, what does that say about the foundations of our relationship?"  
  
Gunn's jaw was clenched and Fred could see a small muscle twitching, biting back his hatred of Wesley...or was some of it directed at her? He turned away from her and continued walking, his thoughts tightly locked into his brain as always. He was getting as bad as Angel for secretiveness.  
  
**********  
  
Angel paced the hotel menacingly, unable to sleep and unable to make contact with any of his team. Sure, most of them had become as nocturnal as he had due to the antisocial hours of their job, but they usually answered their phones nevertheless. He had already got Cordelia's voicemail, Gunn's cell had rung a few times only to be discovered under a coat in the office. Fred, well, Fred, despite being the queen of techno-jargon, did not possess a mobile phone at all.   
  
There was only one person left to try. Wesley could be counted on to have his cell handy at any given moment.  
  
"Hello?" Wesley's anxious voice echoed down the line.  
  
"Wesley, it's me. What's up?" Angel tried to keep his tone calm. He didn't want to sound foolish if there was nothing afoot.  
  
"Uh, nothing. Everything's fine." Wesley could hear the strain in his own voice. How on earth was he going to convince Angel if he couldn't even convince himself? Cordelia had already guessed who was calling and was rolling her eyes expressively in his direction. It was clear what she was willing him to say, to tell the truth about Connor's disappearance.   
  
He deliberately avoided any kind of eye contact with her, concentrating on the next excuse he could conjure up. "What are you doing?" he asked, casually. Cordelia sighed in evident exasperation but once again Wesley ignored her.  
  
Angel's concern about sounding foolish died into nothing when he heard the restless tone in his partner's voice. "There's something wrong, isn't there? Wesley?" he queried when the Englishman did not respond.  
  
"No, no, it's all fine..."  
  
"You can't hide it, Wesley. I can hear it in your voice. Where's Connor? Can I speak to him?" He clutched the phone with clenched fingers.  
  
"Oh, Angel, Connor's still resting. He needs to sleep and recuperate. I'd rather not wake him..."  
  
Angel persevered. "I thought you were going to stay with him. You're outside, I can hear you. Is he with you? Why aren't you at home?"  
  
Wesley stammered something incoherent before the phone was torn from his hands by Cordelia. "Actually, Wesley does have something important to say." Without ceremony, she put the cell phone roughly back towards her companion.  
  
"Angel, I'm really sorry..." The sentence did not need completing.  
  
"Where could he have gone?" Angel's voice was grave but perfectly calm.  
  
"I don't know. I swear he was only out of my sight for a moment..."  
  
"Tell me where you've looked and I'll pick up the slack."  
  
Wesley cut him short. "Angel, there's more. Connor told me something which may help us find him. He signed a contract with the man at the club."  
  
"What did it say?"  
  
"I don't know. I think Connor was pretty out of it when he signed it. Considering his success at The Cage, I'd presume it would be a contract to fight. For how long, I would guess..."  
  
"...until death," Angel finished.  
  
Wesley nodded to himself, grimly. "Angel, I'm sorry. I just wanted to find him."  
  
"I know." Angel's tone was impenetrable. Wesley knew he was once again to blame but a father's wrath knew no bounds where a child was concerned. Angel had shown that after Connor's first disappearance. What possible reaction would he have now? But Wesley was less concerned about his own skin than the poor boy who had been entrusted to his care.  
  
**********  
  
The dome rose out of the desert like some obscene blister on the land, gleaming confidently as if daring its viewer to take on the power and strength of the demons harboured in its fetid belly.  
  
It brought a smile to Fax Torrance's face and an excited lurch in his stomach. To him, it was a swollen maternal belly containing womb fruit - fruit of his labours, fruits of the vengeance which had lain stagnant in his heart for decades. Finally, he had found something to quench the eternal anger and resentment burning inside him. Yet, no matter how much blood was spilt or money was made, Fax had felt something lacking in his endeavours. Now he was complete. He had found the crowning glory. His immortal enemy's son, perhaps the most important person in the world to Angelus.  
  
His plans for revenge were finally to be fulfilled. Fax clutched his contract close to his chest. He just had to get to his trustworthy warlock before Angel found his son missing. Given his proximity to the dome already, that didn't look like it would be a problem. Home and free. Fax looked dotingly on his charge who was still drifting somewhere between sickness and health. Colour was gradually returning to the youthful cheeks and he stirred occasionally. Years had passed in darkness but finally Fax's world was starting to brighten.  
  
**********  
  
"Someday I'll fly away...!" Fred sang, tremulously. She stared hard at Lorne, willing him to interpret the few slices of information she might have unconsciously stored in her brain which would lead them to Connor. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. Lorne waved his hand energetically in the air to stop her sorrowful warble. "That's enough, sugar. You could give Nicole Kidman a run for her money," he lied, knowing how much young Fred loved 'Moulin Rouge'. "Sorry, Fred, all I'm vibing is confusion and frustration. There's nothing solid."  
  
"I always said this was a bad idea," Gunn piped up from his vantage point behind the reception desk.  
  
Fred shrugged her shoulders in dejection. "Well, it was worth a try. We can't just sit here and do nothing."  
  
"I hate to say it, poodle, but I'm starting to think that's about all we can do. We've investigated every lead, scouted all his usual haunts, beaten up the usual bad guys and sneaks with their ears to the ground. Some time we're going to have to accept that we've done everything there is to do."  
  
"Unless Angel and Cordy get that spell working. If it locates Connor's energy like the shaman said it could..."  
  
Fred stopped as the hotel doors swung open. Cordelia and Angel could not have looked more muted. Ever hopeful, Fred asked, "Any luck?"  
  
"Nada," Cordelia replied bluntly. "Nothing but a big pile of stinky herbs and a shaman with an attitude problem. He cost the earth, too."  
  
"So now what?" Fred asked again. Gunn and Lorne looked to Angel. The green demon had already summed up their course of action pretty well but it was the vampire who gave the go ahead.  
  
Angel looked from one expectant face to the next. "Now...well, now I guess we wait. Something's got to turn up sooner or later. It had just better be sooner."  
  
**********  
  
Wesley pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck, feeling the chill more acutely than usual. Rain beat down around him. It barely ever rained in Los Angeles but, since Connor's disappearance, it had hardly stopped. At times he had even wondered if the grey cloud wasn't just following him wherever he went, a constant reminder of his failures, a meteorological notch on his post of let-downs. He kept his eyes down, averted from accusing faces, strangers and acquaintances alike.   
  
For the tenth time that night, Wesley took a turn down a darkened alley and stepped into the next demon bar in search of some clue. Vampires immediately caught his eye, their senses aware of the human meat in their midst, but the Englishman barely noticed. A young creature with translucent skin which still showed faint traces of mortal blood approached him at the bar. Perhaps she was newly turned. The cold skin of her arm draped across his shoulder and she sank gracefully down onto the stool beside him. "Can I buy you a drink?"  
  
Wesley's eyes hardened as he turned to her. He was in no mood for banter. "No."  
  
"Ooh, I'm hurt. Can't a girl reverse the gender roles anymore? What brings you to a place like this anyway?" The Englishman's lip curled into a smile of faint amusement. Such a pick-up line wouldn't cut in the mortal world, let alone the immortal one. As if picking up on his thoughts, the girl let out a shrill tinkle of laughter. "Well, you've got to admit, it's a more fitting line now than it would have been at Felt, don't you think? A single human walking into a bar of demons and the like. It's like a lamb to the slaughter."  
  
"Perhaps," Wesley replied, monosyllabic. "Perhaps not."  
  
"Come on. One drink..."  
  
Feeling suitably irritated but in no mood for taking on a bar fight, Wesley stood up and threw a handful of notes across the counter in payment. He headed for the door but paused on the threshold. A poster had been newly stuck to the notice board. HYBRIDOME - THE FIGHT OF YOUR LIFE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND, MOJAVE.  
  
Underneath the large print was a logo depicting two vicious looking monsters and a number of magical implements. Without another moment's thought, Wesley tore the poster down and stuffed it into his pocket before stepping back out into the miserable rain.  
  
He grabbed for his cell phone and dialled the Hyperion. Cordelia answered. "I think I know where Connor is. Meet me at my apartment in half an hour. Bring a torch."  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 10  
  
Not that long a section, I know, but I wanted to keep the ball rolling so to speak. I really hope you enjoyed it. Please, please, please review! 


	11. Chapter 11

THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS By Allegra  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers etc.  
  
Sorry to anyone who might have been waiting for the next instalment – don't give up on me! I'm sorry it's taken so long. No excuses. I just hope you enjoy it & it would be lovely if you would review for me.  
  
PART 11 *******  
  
"Axe?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Flail?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Crossbow and supply of bolts?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Broadsword?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Guys, by the time you've gone through our whole artillery, Connor might be dead," Gunn stated, barely suppressing the blood lust in his voice.  
  
Angel looked up. "No he won't. He can hold his own...for a while anyway. I just want to be prepared. We don't know what we're going to find out there."  
  
Fred shuddered, "Just imagine, the place is going to be crawling with vampires and monsters, demons of all shapes and sizes."  
  
"Yeah, it's going to be a real multi-cultural shindig. Come on, let's make a start." Gunn hated waiting around before a fight. The more time he had to think and assess a situation, the less he wanted to be involved with it anymore. Contemplation was not his strongest quality and too much down time only made him jittery; it did nothing for improving his outlook on the whole thing.  
  
"Angel, Gunn's right. This dome has been known to move location. Fax will know you're on his trail. Your reputation will no doubt precede you. Not to feed your ego but your CV is pretty formidable. They might just move Hybridome on account of you." Once again, Wesley was the voice of reason in the outfit and Angel seemed to be listening this time.  
  
"Fine, let's go." He grabbed the innocent looking carpet bag which held anything but innocent objects. The shiny metal of a mace glinted under the lights as Angel slung it over his shoulder. "Fred, you got the map?"  
  
"Yep, I mean, check."  
  
"Anyone got keys?" Cordelia piped up, ever ready with the important things. Angel shot her a sarcastic look and she shrugged her shoulders, "What? The last thing we want to come back to is a hotel overrun by vamps or worse."  
  
"What's worse?" Gunn enquired.  
  
"I don't know. Squatters?"  
  
**********  
  
The drive seemed interminable. Nothing but scrub and sand as far as the eye could see, except for huge rocky hills obscuring their view. The Hybridome could be nestled behind any one of them and Fred's map reading had been of little use.  
  
"I'm sorry everyone. I had no idea it would be this hard to find. I mean, a desert's a desert, right? Maybe I'm reading this map wrong. We passed Ludlow nearly an hour ago. There's no way this is right. I mean, these are definitely the Bristol Mountains...unless they're the Piute Mountains. I mean, it does feel like we've overshot by quite a lot."  
  
Gunn recognised the telltale signs of half coherent ramble coming and rubbed his girlfriend's back, reassuringly. "It's okay, Fred, you've done good. You got us off the freeway and out of Los Angeles, didn't you?!"  
  
"I guess," Fred murmured, her eyes turning to Angel for some kind of assurance, after all it was his son's life at stake...again. His gaze remained stony, staring out of the window at the passing desert. Suddenly Wesley swerved, the tyres skidding on the light dirt ground and ground to a halt at the foot of a steep hillside.  
  
"Oh-kay," Gunn drawled. "That I was not expecting. Your foot slip off the pedal there, Englishman?"  
  
Wesley squinted into the darkness ahead of the yellow headlight beam. "We've been going about this all wrong. I mean, what are we looking for? A neon sign pointing us in the right direction? What demon in his right mind would set up a complex like Hybridome just off the highway?"  
  
"So what are you suggesting?" Gunn grumbled, the familiar irritation towards Wesley mounting.  
  
"That we go cross-country."  
  
"Up and down the hill?" Fred asked, her eyes widening as she stared up the almost sheer face of slippery, sandy rock.  
  
"Through the middle," Wesley replied, blankly. With a flick of the fog lights, a narrow passage was visible between two sharp escarpments and, without further consultation, Wesley put his foot on the accelerator and drove right for the gap. He ignored the protests that the four wheel drive would never fit and did not even flinch when the audible scratching of paint being torn off the carriage reverberated around the car.  
  
The bumpy terrain jostled the passengers and Gunn protested profusely, although he made a point of blaming Wesley's poor driving rather than the natural hazards of desert treks. His whinging was eventually silenced when the car emerged from between the hills onto a dusty but clear plateau of desert. Angel pulled himself upright in his seat and squinted into the distance.  
  
Fred looked around them and sighed, "Well, unless they've cast some kind of camouflage spell, I don't see any signs of the dome."  
  
"What's that?" Angel pointed towards the horizon.  
  
Wesley retrieved a small pair of binoculars from the glove box and brought the faint object into focus. "Well, it looks like we've found what we were looking for. Now we just have to get close enough without being detected."  
  
"Couldn't we cast some kind of spell over ourselves or something?" Gunn asked.  
  
Wesley raised an eyebrow. "We'd have to go back to the hotel for the spell book and then find the ingredients. Even if we did, chances are whoever runs security on this place is monitoring supernatural activity more thoroughly than anything else."  
  
"So we walk - go in as ourselves. Humans are the least threatening of any visitors, no offence intended, guys." Angel managed a wry smile but it was evident he wanted to get moving now. With the dome in sight, all his thoughts would be turned inevitably to Connor. Instinctively, he took a step away from the car, towards danger and his son. Without question, the others followed, loaded with their artillery of weapons from the trunk of the car.  
  
With each step, the edifice loomed closer, a menacing source of evil. The team of Angel Investigations had probably faced worse than each and every one of these demons at some point but that was not what sent a chill down their spines. It was the sheer concentration of them in one place, a place with no quick access to civilisation, or escape. Still, they had Angel on their side and Fax must be pretty scared of him to go to such lengths to keep Connor away from him.  
  
**********  
  
Connor's head pounded like an elephant had stood on his skull and then jumped up and down. The pain was indescribable; certainly unlike anything the teenager had experienced before. He had always been invincible. Now he felt anything but. He slowly opened his eyes, grateful to discover that the room was dimly lit. Gradually, reality dawned on him and Connor forced himself into a sitting position. This was not the familiar décor of Wesley's apartment, neither did it resemble the Hyperion. Come to think of it, the room was unlike anywhere he had ever been. Had he woken up to familiar faces, this might not have seemed too perturbing but Connor knew better than to think well of a situation unless proved otherwise. He raised one hand to his foggy head and was almost surprised to find no trace of blood. Surely the antidote wasn't supposed to have such radical side effects - it made the poison suddenly seem not such an awful option. Connor staggered to his feet and fought the swaying motion as he made his way to the door and tried the handle. Locked. Not a good sign. Unable to make any further judgement, he returned to the soft bed and lay down.  
  
He couldn't be sure how long he had slept or whether he had simply blacked out but Connor came to with the sound of a key turning in a lock. He sat up, trying to appear as alert as his still pounding head would let him. Two burly men pushed the door open and Fax entered, looking unusually small alongside such heavyweights. "Where am I?" Connor demanded, immediately.  
  
Fax chuckled and nodded to the two men who closed the door behind him, leaving the pair alone. "I'm sorry about the door. It's more for your own safety than anything else."  
  
"Safety from what?" Connor eyed the older man, warily. He had a feeling he knew what was coming but, like any trapped animal, he wasn't planning on taking any chances. Whatever answers he could get from the horse's mouth, he would. For the first time, he noticed that Fax was carrying a tray of food and a carafe of water which he placed gently on the bedside table.  
  
"You must be thirsty. Antidotes always leave ya drained. How're you feeling though? Better, I'd warrant." He calmly poured some water and handed the glass to Connor, who took it eagerly but not without sniffing the contents first. Fax laughed again, "Still don't trust anyone, do ya, kid? Well, don't worry, you'll come to. I understand you better than you know." Connor did not reply so Fax continued. "You should rest, get your sea legs back so to speak. You'll be back in the ring in no time."  
  
"The Cage?" Connor asked in confusion.  
  
"Not The Cage anymore, kid. Hybridome. The same thing, only fifty times bigger and plenty more cash to be made. You're not shy of big crowds, are ya?" The question was clearly rhetorical because he carried on. "You're going to be a star, kid, just you wait and see. Think of the money you make now and multiply it by one hundred. Just think of it. I'd bet your mind can't even imagine such wealth. It'll buy you anything you've ever wanted."  
  
"I don't want anything. My life's just fine," Connor insisted, indignantly.  
  
"You think Angel would agree?" Connor flinched at the sound of his father's name and the fact that Fax knew about his family. Fax flapped a hand nonchalantly and sat down on the edge of the bed, beckoning his protégé closer. "Come here, kid."  
  
Connor remained where he was for a moment then drew a chair up opposite Fax. The older man looked kinder in the teenager's view all of a sudden. His eyes no longer held a money lusting light but that of a kindly figure. The wrinkles around his eyes were gentle and natural, reassuring. "I don't pretend to know you, kid, but I do know something about pain and suffering. I know about loss...of your family, the very heart of you. It fills you with a loneliness that's inconsolable. The only relief is in directin' that loneliness into anger and revenge. What makes it bitter is when you don't get to wreak that revenge on the ones that deserve it. Most of us never get that opportunity, so we do the next best thing. We take our anger out on the creatures that the world wants gone. And, hell, what's wrong with making a buck or two along the way? That's what we're here for. You might not need me but what say we rub along together for a while?""  
  
Connor stared at Fax with something bordering on amazement. His eyes bore into the older man with a kind of desperate yearning and it almost broke Fax's cold heart to see the flicker of innocence lingering in the background. He had not seen that expression on a face since his family was torn from him. Connor whispered, "Okay."  
  
"Good lad," Fax said, punching Connor lightly on the arm, breaking the uncomfortable moment of intimacy. "Now get some rest. Here's the key to your room. Just watch your back if you choose to do any sightseeing."  
  
**********  
  
By the time Angel and the gang were less than half a mile from the dome, they stopped. "I'll go the rest of the way alone. Wait here."  
  
"Wait here? I didn't come all this way to be told to 'wait here'!" Gunn said, indignantly.  
  
Angel stared him down. "Look out there. The place is swarming with vampires and demons. You get anywhere within the vicinity and you'll be a dead man. Trust me."  
  
Gunn gripped his axe angrily and Fred could tell he was chomping at the bit to use it. She moved to his side and placed her hand gently over his. "Gunn, Angel's right. We've taken on vamps and demons before but not on this scale. There's no way we'd survive."  
  
Wesley chimed in, "Besides, even if we did make it through the sea of supernatural creatures, we'd hardly be able to enter the dome undetected. We'd simply draw even more attention to ourselves." He turned to Angel, hardly giving Gunn an opportunity to protest. "What's your plan?"  
  
Angel stared back at the Englishman blankly. "Plan?"  
  
"Please tell me you were't expecting to just walk in there?"  
  
"Well, I guess..." Angel shrugged, then his wounded puppy expression appeared. "Is that not a good plan?"  
  
Fred gushed, "No! It's a terrible plan. If there's one person Fax is expecting to show up, it's you! He'd never just let you stroll in there. You've got 'trouble' written all over you."  
  
"Fine, then I'll be...stealthy," Angel said, trying to think of something which would get the gang off his back and release him to rescue Connor in peace. "Those monsters will smell your blood a mile off but, in all the crowds, I might just slip past unnoticed."  
  
"And if it doesn't work?" Fred asked.  
  
"Then you guys can come rescue me and say 'I told you so'."  
  
Wesley handed Angel the sword he had been carrying. "Given how little we know about this place, even just getting a closer look at the security and basic layout would make the task easier. Good luck, Angel. Just call if there's any trouble."  
  
"Yeah, or you want a diversion," Fred offered, hopefully. Gunn winced at the mental image she conjured up of the three humans fleeing across hundreds of miles of desert, vainly trying to escape throngs of demons and vampires.  
  
Angel nodded, "See you soon." Jamming the sword into his black coat and arming himself with a few stakes and charms, he set off towards the dome, leaving his three friends watching his back grow smaller in the distance.  
  
"I sure hope he's right about this plan of his," Fred murmured.  
  
"You and me both..." Gunn replied. "...'coz I don't fancy being bait."  
  
**********  
  
Angel glided through the jostling crowds, moving away from groups of demons talking and catching up on old times, towards the sound of a ticket tout. Creatures of different varieties queued up for a chance to watch the action in Hybridome and Angel, remembering about not drawing attention to himself, simply joined the back of the line. He took the opportunity to get a good look at the types of demons around him. Most were pretty harmless, the kind that watched a fight because they didn't have it in them to make one for themselves. There were still a fair number that could do considerable damage if they were an enemy but, so far, Angel hadn't given them a reason to dislike him.  
  
"Hey, buddy, you want a ticket or not?" Angel turned and realised he was now at the front of the queue, facing a Grolor demon, all folds of mottled flesh and a rank odour.  
  
"Yeah. How much?"  
  
"That depends on where you sit."  
  
Angel reached for his wallet. "As close to the action as you can get me. How much?"  
  
The Grolor demon rifled through the tickets in his hand. "I can give you centre circle but it'll cost you."  
  
Angel was starting to get impatient. "How much?"  
  
"$400." Angel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. If anything, the price was cheaper than he had anticipated. Good for him that he was used to forking out bribe money and could hand over clean cash. "Here." He handed the demon a wad of notes and took the ticket before heading straight for the entrance.  
  
Inside, the dome lobby resembled an average casino – loud coloured carpets with busy patterns plus curtains and upholstery which even the most uncreative person could see did not match in the slightest. The crowds in here were worse than those gathering outside in the open desert. Demons jostled one another for a programme of events and alcohol or bizarre dimensional juices at the kiosks dotted around.  
  
Angel stared grimly out from under hooded brows; it should not prove too difficult to find some kind of access to where Connor was held without being detected. He felt bad for completely ignoring the plan his friends had come up with but he didn't want four extra lives to take responsibility for. He wanted to get into the building (check), find Connor, wreak some havoc and get out. Nice and simple. A sign near the ring entrance indicated some kind of staff access. Shoving through a group of Japanese hyuki demons with cameras, the vampire made a beeline for the door. Two burly bodyguards were posted on either side but, unless they unleashed any special powers, Angel didn't think they'd pose a problem. Just as he reached them, a voice rang out clearly behind him. It was not so much the volume which made the vampire pause so much as the distinctive tone. It was too familiar to ignore. Angel turned to face Fax Torrance.  
  
"Angelus! I wondered how long it would be before you caught up with us. It's a pleasure to see you." There was barely a note of sarcasm in the man's voice as he looked the vampire up and down, pausing when he saw the ticket clutched in Angel's hand. "You didn't pay for that thing, did you? As a member of a participant's family, you're entitled to free admission to all the fights. I'll get your money refunded right away."  
  
Angel clenched his jaw angrily. "Why do I get the feeling you won't hand my son back so readily. Keep your God damned money."  
  
"Oh, I think it's you whose damned by God, Angelus...and I think you'll find your son's more than happy here." The grin which spread across Fax's face was almost enough to make Angel deck the man, but he thought better of it in a crowded place full of Hybridome fans.  
  
"We'll see about that. You gonna tell me where he is or do I have to squeeze it out of you?"  
  
Fax graciously raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in the direction of the door Angel had been heading towards. "Go for it. You might have to join the queue though. Hope you brought your autograph book, 'coz his signature might be the last keepsake you have of him."  
  
"Oh, mark my words. I'm not leaving this place without Connor." Angel turned his back on the repellent little man and pushed through the door. Trap or no trap, he had to check it out.  
  
Fax watched his sworn enemy go, feeling strangely exhilarated by the close encounter. "Connor," he breathed. So the Kid finally had a real name.  
  
**********  
  
"This sucks!" Gunn stated, dismally. It felt like years since Angel had left them behind to man the getaway car. "If I'd known this was how the evening was going down, I'd have stayed and watched the game on TV."  
  
Fred shot him a withering look and he got defensive. "What?! A nice cold beer, some chips and a pepperoni pizza..." His mouth watered as his mind drifted to the scene.  
  
"Yes, I'm starting to wish you'd stayed at home, too," Wesley murmured, just loud enough for the sidekick to hear as he peered through his night vision binoculars towards the throng in the distance.  
  
Gunn looked at the Englishman indignantly. "Yeah, because Angel was just so grateful for your help and all. I mean, everyone needs a stick up their ass from time to time, right?"  
  
Fred stood up, ready to part the sparring pair. "Charles...!"  
  
Wesley did not even look up from his binoculars. "Perhaps, but who was it who found the short cut to get us here? And who was it who..."  
  
"...took Connor the first time. You know, I'm surprised Angel even trusted you to come along, after everything that..."  
  
Gunn stopped as Wesley put down the binoculars and sent a look of steel in the other man's direction. "I'd take that back if I were you."  
  
"Or what? I hadn't even finished the sentence yet."  
  
"Yeah, and you're not going to," Cordelia stepped in. She had stayed quiet for most of the journey and the duration of the conversation. Mostly, her thoughts were with the trauma of becoming a higher being and being returned to Earth with memory loss. Her whole perspective had changed and the old Cordelia had been quickly replaced with a more reflective, sombre character. "You don't have a right to an opinion on that one. If Angel doesn't want to talk about it, neither should you."  
  
"Yeah, because we always do what Angel wants, don't we? Like sitting out here for hours on end freezing our butts off in the desert with no sign of action!" Gunn almost yelled the last bit.  
  
Cordelia stared him down but chose not to belittle herself by arguing the matter out. Gunn was notoriously hot-headed and there was no point trying to make him see sense in this situation. Besides, he had gone for the cheap shot so she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being bait for his anger.  
  
Wesley had returned his gaze to the binoculars and the green-hued scene playing out within its lenses. He moved through the crowd with no clear direction, partly looking for Angel and partly simply biding the time by identifying breeds of demon in his head. Then, something caught his attention. Amidst the dirt and ugliness a sleek, feline form moved as if the demons did not even touch her. Lilah. She had almost reached the front doors of the Hybridome.  
  
Putting down the binoculars, Wesley said sternly, "Wait here. I'll be back soon."  
  
"Wesley...!" Fred whispered, hoarsely, but he was already sneaking round the rocks and making a path for the crowds ahead. "What's he doing?" she asked in concern, looking to Cordelia for enlightenment.  
  
"I don't know. Maybe something upset him," she stated, clearly, looking firmly at Gunn.  
  
"Hey, I can't help it if he can't behave like a man," Gunn shrugged.  
  
**********  
  
Angel moved quickly down the starkly lit passageways. They looked like typical maintenance access corridors, the ceiling bulging with snakes of pipe line and valves, including the occasional shaft dovetailing off the main artery. As he walked faster, Angel began to hear sounds of life. He had expected perhaps a couple of Hybridome employees but, even a group wouldn't be making this volume of noise.  
  
He rounded a corner and saw the corridor had widened and was starting to look as if someone had taken some care decorating. A mass of demons were standing in a line. They turned to look at the newcomer, eyeing him suspiciously. Angel paused for a moment, weighing up whether they were a potential threat or not. Deciding negative, he began to walk past until a scaled arm was thrown up to block his path. "Hey, wait your turn, man!"  
  
"Yeah, the back of the line's there, buddy," another chimed in.  
  
"What line?" Angel asked in confusion.  
  
"You're not here for the Kid's autograph. He won seven consecutive times at The Cage. Man, he's only a slip of a thing, but, man, can he move."  
  
"Yeah, and the strength in him! It's like he's been popping the spinach."  
  
"Must be some demon blood in him somewhere. No measly human could fight like that." The demon in question looked sheepishly at Angel. "Sorry, man. I guess you were a measly human once, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," Angel said, still fairly bemused. The Kid could only be Connor and he was determined to get in to see his son. Ignoring the protests of the boy's fans, Angel tried the door only to find it locked. He was about to kick it down when Connor's voice issued from within. "Just give me a moment, will ya?" Suddenly put off his game by the sound of his voice, Angel paused and decided to wait for an invitation.  
  
A moment later, the door opened and Connor's pale but defiant face appeared. He was wearing a public grin, pen poised, expecting his fans. "Hi, son. Sorry, have you got any paper?"  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 11  
  
Part 12 coming sooner rather than later!!! 


	12. Chapter 12

THE LABOUR AND THE WOUNDS  
  
By Allegra  
  
(See Part One for disclaimers etc.)  
  
Big thank you to everyone who has reviewed! It is wonderful to hear your thoughts on the story so far and has made it much more enjoyable to write.  
  
PART 12  
  
"Watching blood spilled the only way you could get kicks into that cold heart of yours?" Wesley enquired, gesturing mildly to the towering infrastructure of the Hybridome.   
  
The woman with her back to him froze instantly. She stood out from the crowd in her smart suit and crisp white shirt. Wesley almost wondered how she had survived making it this far into the throng without being accosted. Mind you, unless you spent most of your demon days holed up in another dimension it was virtually impossible to miss the emergence of Lilah Morgan as one of California's most formidable demon opponent. She turned, that smug half-smile creeping across her face.  
  
Wesley added, "Or is this a business trip?"   
  
Lilah opened her mouth to speak, characteristically unruffled by the Englishman's sudden appearance. Wesley, however, knew otherwise. Lilah's fearless face was merely a convenient and necessary mask in order to get through the working day. Demons could smell fear a mile away and Lilah had learned how to deceive them as well as she had deceived Wesley into believing her a good lover for a time.  
  
"Wesley. I might ask the same of you."  
  
"Yes, well, I asked first." Wesley cringed inwardly at how juvenile that particular line must have sounded. He pulled himself up to his full height as he had a tendency to do when challenged by someone more powerful than himself.   
  
Lilah smiled, recognising the familiar stance. "Business. I like to keep my ear to the ground and there's no better way than this now is there?" She took a few steps closer to her lover as she spoke until Wesley could almost feel her breath against his neck.  
  
"You might have tried harder to blend in? A woman wandering this kind of territory alone is undoubtedly going to meet opposition."   
  
Lilah let out a breathy chuckle, "You offering to watch my back for me, Wes? Play the knight in shining armour? The charm of the Englishman never does quite wear off." She touched the front of his shirt fondly and peered up at him with boldly innocent eyes. "Are you here to watch Connor?"  
  
Wesley's heart lurched in his chest. Throughout his 'relationship' with Lilah, he always hoped that some day she would find the good in herself and bind herself to it. All too often he was disappointed. Tonight was no different. No matter how much he willed himself that she had nothing to do with Connor's predicament, the facts stared him in the face and now they had been happily confirmed. "Lilah," he began, his voice low with admonition "I'm not alone. Angel is with me..."  
  
"Ooh, I'm shaking in my Manolos. Do you really think, after all this time, I'm afraid of the big boss man? Besides, Connor's old enough to make his own decisions."  
  
Wesley stared down at Lilah, his face hardening into tight lines of cold anger. "You've involved his family. Angel won't take that lightly. This isn't work any more, this is personal. I'm sure I don't have to quote you with the Watchers' diaries to reacquaint you with his methods of punishment."  
  
"Hey, I may hate the guy, but I wasn't the one who recruited Junior to the team. He did that all on his own. In fact, I didn't even know about it until last night. That's why I'm here."  
  
"I thought you said this was a business trip?" Wesley asked, cautiously, desperate to believe whatever yarn she spun next.  
  
"I am. Wolfram and Hart had a little project going for a while that became mutually beneficial with Hybridome."  
  
"Sounds dangerous."  
  
Lilah shook her head, "We devoted some lab time to creating a demon life form which, injected with the correct samples, can give birth to pretty much any sort of demon or hybrid your Watcher's brain could imagine. Hybridome tests the offsprings' physical limits against your average demon breed. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement...for now anyway."  
  
"That explains our difficulty in finding an antidote for the poison Connor received at The Cage," Wesley mused.  
  
Lilah pulled a face. "Yeah, heard about that. Still, it takes a lot to keep that kid down, huh?" Her gaze moved pointedly to the images of Connor's fights spliced together on a huge plasma screen above the stadium.  
  
"So you had nothing to do with his recruitment?" Wesley asked, determined to get one final, definitive answer.  
  
"Nothing," Lilah said, her voice suddenly taking on a new found seriousness. She truly wanted him to believe her, whether to save her butt from Angel's wrath or, as Wesley hoped, because she cared about what he thought. "To be honest, he kind of threw a spanner in the works. The senior partners don't like to get Angel involved with anything, for obvious reasons. Now he's snooping round their projects. Low classification or not, it irks them. So, the quicker you get Connor out of here, the better." She eyed him with a smug expression. "That is what you're here for, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then, I can I just ask the teeniest favour?" Lilah pleaded. "Don't make too much of a mess. The welfare of Hybridome is kind of important to our little project."  
  
Wesley smiled, "You're asking Angel to keep the violence to a minimum where his own son is concerned?"  
  
Lilah shrugged, "I guess that was a long shot."  
  
**********  
  
For a second, Connor simply stood in the doorway, staring at Angel. Then the sulky teenager in him began to surface. "Figured you'd show up." He turned his back and returned to the chair where he was busy getting changed. Angel took that as an invitation and slammed the door hard in the faces of the angry demons complaining that he'd jumped the queue.  
  
"Nice to see you, too." He looked around the small changing room. It seemed nice enough, no peeling paint or ancient brown stains. Clearly, whoever ran Hybridome liked to keep the contenders in style. "So..." he began, unsure what kind of footing father and son were on at this point. A great deal had happened since their big argument about Connor's choice of career. "...are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Connor replied, tersely, not bothering to raise his head from the task of unlacing his trainers.   
  
"You know, you could have left a note. After busting our butts to save yours, it would have been nice to know you appreciated it, that you were safe." Angel had not planned to approach this situation so aggressively but he couldn't help feeling bitter about Connor's rudeness and ingratitude.  
  
Connor looked up, a strangely soft expression in his eyes. "Who said I sneaked off?" Then, catching the irritation in his own voice, he added, "But thanks." He glanced up towards a corner of the ceiling and Angel followed his gaze to see the lens of a small surveillance camera coming through the wall.   
  
Angel knelt casually beside his son and spoke in a low voice. "Connor, I'm here to help you, you know that, right?"  
  
Connor stopped what he was doing and looked up at his father, his eyes like those of a trapped animal. The boy swallowed and nodded mutely.  
  
Angel continued, "Is it true that you signed something? In blood? A contract?"  
  
"Yes." Connor's eyes darted distractedly up to the camera once more. "It was my choice to make."  
  
Angel felt himself stiffen. Regardless of who was listening, he didn't like playing games. Ever since Connor had reappeared in this dimension, the vampire was constantly on a different wavelength, unable to read any of the signals his son was giving out. Did he want rescuing or not? From the way he kept looking at the camera, Angel got the impression that he did, but Connor had a way of giving out body signals to the contrary. Which was he supposed to take as truth? "Do you want me to negotiate some kind of release?"  
  
Connor pulled himself upright in the chair. He didn't like being dependent on anyone, least of all his demon of a father. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out the familiar refrain, "I can look after myself."  
  
Angel sighed, wearily. "I know that, Connor, but there's nothing wrong with accepting a little help every now and again. I just don't think you want to do this."  
  
The boy visibly stiffened and Angel knew he had said just the wrong thing. If there was one thing certain to push Connor over the edge, it was telling him his own mind. "Why? Because you wouldn't do it yourself? Not all of us want to dedicate our lives to helping the helpless, you know! I've got to make a living somehow."  
  
"Then get a job like an ordinary person, Connor! No one's telling you you've got to be a hero and join the team."  
  
"But I'm not an ordinary person though, am I?! If I were, I'd be dead now. Do you have any idea how much money I've made with Fax?" Connor's eyes blazed with indignation.  
  
"No, but I'm guessing it'll never buy your freedom. Connor, this might all seem like some great game right now, but think ahead. What's it going to be like in a year, ten years, thirty?"  
  
"I won't be sticking around that long," Connor naively retorted.  
  
Angel felt like shaking him. His son had absolutely no concept that there were people and creatures with more power than he did. "Connor, this is isn't some game that you get to quit when you've had enough! There are demons fighting here that are stronger and more dangerous than you. You've already been poisoned once, what's it going to take to make you realise you're not invincible!?"  
  
"It's my life, I'll do whatever I want. You can't stop me! Just get out!"  
  
"Connor, please! Listen to me, I'm your father!" Angel pleaded.  
  
The teenager stood up angrily. "Since when has that meant anything? Your life's been nothing but one huge mess - one mistake after another! You screwed up your life so why should I listen to you?! All those people you killed, the ones you've hurt! You only help the helpless to try and make amends for something you can never repair. You only fight for good because you can't suppress the urge to hurt something, anything. You're a vampire, violence is in your nature. What gives you the right to come in here and tell me what I should do with my life?"  
  
Angel stood his ground but he had lost all propensity for speech. If that was what Connor truly thought of him, perhaps he was better off alone. Angel couldn't help him. "Fine. You live your life, Connor. Get yourself mauled by some dumb demon while dirty money gets gambled for your life. I'm not coming to rescue you anymore." Suppressing any residual paternal emotion, Angel turned his back and left, slamming the door curtly behind him.  
  
Connor remained fixed to the spot, staring at the place where his father had stood only a second ago. Then, he slowly sank to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest. He'd done it this time. Now he was truly alone.  
  
**********  
  
"That's just great, Gunn. You just can't leave anything alone, can you?" Cordelia's brow was furrowed into a frown of annoyance and her arms were crossed stiffly in front of her. The more the group dispersed the more likely it was that something bad would happen to one of them.   
  
"Just leave it, Cordy. It's man's business," he replied, curtly.  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes and gave him one of her looks. "Oh, please, you call yourself a man? That was the cheapest shot you could have used on him."  
  
Fred had been sitting quietly in the sand, choosing to keep out of this particular argument. Her relationship with Gunn was already on the rocks and the fire of jealousy didn't need stoking, as much as she wanted to defend Wesley. Cordy was right to question the timing of Gunn's little confrontation but it was unlike Wesley to storm off after a slanging match with his co-worker. Was there something more to his sudden disappearance? She had retrieved the binoculars from the ground and tracked her friend's path all the way to the centre of the lingering crowds outside Hybridome. For a while Fred lost him in the bustle, but she soon found him again.  
  
He was now striding purposely towards the door and Fred wondered if he was planning to follow Angel, but then he veered off to the right. He stopped short and appeared to be talking to someone with their back turned. Fred gasped inwardly when the figure turned around and revealed their identity. Her first instinct was to inform Gunn and Cordelia, but something stopped her. Fred couldn't deny that she had strange, unrequited feelings for the ex-Watcher and she had been disturbed and a little jealous of the bizarre, mysterious relationship between Wesley and Lilah Morgan. Ignoring the guilt of being so voyeuristic, Fred readjusted the focus of the binoculars and tried her hardest to make some sense of what they were saying. Lilah was her customary seductive self and, beneath his stiff stance, Fred could almost detect a physical lean towards the woman. She had seen enough. "Hey guys," Fred beckoned.  
  
Cordy was happy to leave her altercation with Gunn alone for a while. "What is it?"  
  
"Take a look at who came to the party." Fred handed the binoculars to her friend and pointed Cordelia in the right direction.   
  
Cordelia's eyes settled on the two figures, now deep in conversation. "I wonder if she was invited."  
  
"Who is it?" Charles asked, curiously.   
  
"Lilah. What do you think she's doing here?" Fred asked.  
  
Gunn shrugged, "I reckon she fits right in. I mean, Hybridome's not much different from the way Wolfram and Hart run their law firm. Maybe she's here to get tips."  
  
"Well, she and Wes certainly seem to have a lot to say to each other," Cordelia noted, wryly.  
  
"You don't think he's, you know..." Fred didn't want to finish that line of thought but Gunn was more than happy to.  
  
"...working against us? Wouldn't put it past him."  
  
Cordelia pulled the binoculars away from her eyes and whirled on him. "Yeah, well, I would. Has he got his cell phone?"  
  
Fred pulled hers out and dialled Wesley's number and was surprised when the Englishman actually answered it. "Hello?"  
  
"Wesley, what's going on?"  
  
"I think I've just solved part of the hybrid monster mystery. It's a side project of Wolfram and Hart..." Wesley paused and Fred could hear him conversing with someone else in low tones. Suddenly, he said, "Listen, Angel's out. Stay where you are."   
  
Fred asked, "Wait. Does he have Connor with him?" There was no answer just the empty sound of a dead connection.  
  
**********  
  
Wesley steered Angel towards a quieter corner where they were less likely to draw attention to themselves. "Angel, what's going on? Did you find Connor?"  
  
Angel's jaw was drawn into a tight line and his eyes darted defiantly around the throngs still jostling near the entrance. "I found him but he didn't want to come. He's made his decision. He wants to stay."  
  
Wesley tilted his head to one side in a pleading gesture. "Angel," he whined, "did you actually listen to him? Or did you go in there ready to argue?"  
  
Angel tried to defend himself, "I just wanted to talk. I tried to be nice, I tried to help him but he just wouldn't have it. He practically threw me out, said he wanted control of his own life, that he wanted to make money."  
  
"And you believed him? Angel, can't you see what's happening? He doesn't know how to ask for help. That's what you have to do...without him having to ask. You can't just leave him there."  
  
Angel looked at Wesley, annoyance flaring in his dark eyes. "He doesn't want my help, Wes. Believe me."  
  
Wesley tried another tack. "Angel, if you'd seen him before you arrived at my apartment, how weak and defenceless he was, you wouldn't be saying this. He needs you."  
  
Angel shook his head, "But he didn't even want me to see him like that. You saw how he reacted as soon as I got close to him. He's better off on his own. I'm going home." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he prepared to make his way back to the open desert.  
  
Wesley called, "That's a shame. Connor hasn't learned to swallow his pride yet and it's sad that his father can't even show him that example."  
  
Angel halted and stood with his back to Wesley for a while, the slowly turned. "Fine, we'll stay for the fight and I'll talk to him afterwards. Are you happy now?"  
  
Wesley managed a short smile. "I'll let the others know."  
  
**********  
  
Connor was still sitting where Angel had left him half an hour later. The cajoling of his fans outside the door had been tuned out long ago and his thoughts had become introverted again. He had taken a tour of the Hybridome earlier in the day, already unconvinced that this was the life for him. He knew a trap when he saw one. Fax could dress it up any way he wanted, but it always boiled down to the same thing - if there was a lock and a key, it was a prison. Connor had figured it out the moment he saw the expression on Wesley's face at his apartment. In his delirium, the teenager had no idea what he was signing but something about the look in the Englishman's eyes haunted him.   
  
It was one thing fighting for ready cash at The Cage; he could walk out into the sunlight and what he did between sun up and sun down was nobody's business but his own. It was the way Connor had imagined his fighting life to be. Now, everything was looking a lot bleaker.  
  
The teenager had checked out possible escape exits as he toured the building earlier but, unsurprisingly, the place was locked down tight. As one of his fellow inmates had pointed out, nothing was supposed to get in or out. The fighters he saw split into two neat categories - those who had fought, lived and were not ready to face death yet, and those who welcomed death as their only means of escape. The former were beefing themselves up, watching their diet and pulling weights while the latter simply sat, resigned, against the walls of the exercise room, unable or unwilling to push their bodies towards success.  
  
When Connor had walked into a vast training room, every head turned to look him over. Fleetingly, Fax's words of warning about his own safety outside of his room made the teenager wary, but he soon realised why they were really sizing him up. Everyone, no matter what breed of demon, was a prisoner here, and they were simply checking out the competition. Connor never liked to be the centre of attention and today was no different. Still, what made him special wasn't visible from the outside. While he possessed muscles of a kind, they were mainly hidden from view beneath a baggy dark green shirt. Besides, his preternatural strength came from an invisible source. Even with a bit of fat on his lean body, Connor knew he would be able to take out most of the demons in the room.   
  
Within a few moments, the demons returned to their own business and most gathered round the central boxing ring to catch a bit of the action going on there. Connor slipped towards a bench in the corner and sat down awkwardly beside some frightened looking Sylph demons. "Hey," he managed. The three demons nodded. Since he hadn't been spurned or poisoned with their sulphur yellow antlers, Connor took that as an invitation to continue. "How did you end up at Hybridome?"  
  
The Sylph demons looked at one another as if they were conversing telepathically. "We were recruited."  
  
"How does that happen?" Connor enquired, genuinely interested.  
  
"Snatched from the streets and bars," came the metallic reply.  
  
"Wow, you must have been good. Didn't you want to come?"  
  
"No and no. We'll just be entertainment, something to get the crowds fired up."  
  
Connor swallowed, suddenly wary of Fax's methods. "Is this your first fight?"  
  
"First...and last. Do you like the look of Hybridome?" The Sylph's dark amber eyes surveyed the measly human with interest.  
  
"It's okay, I guess. Clean enough, a bit dingy..."  
  
"Well, you'd best get used to it. It's the only thing you're going to see until your dying day."  
  
Connor chose not to pursue that conversation further. Now, back in his own room, on the rebound of his argument with Angel, the teenager knew Wesley had been right to worry about Fax's contract. It was a death warrant. Connor cursed himself for getting so angry, then cursed his father for not understanding that he wanted to be free and for not helping him. Now his only source of hope was probably halfway across the desert heading for the bright lights of Los Angeles and Angel Investigations.  
  
Connor screwed his eyes up tight, trying to imagine himself anywhere but in this claustrophobic changing room. He had been hustled from one room to another after he had returned from the tour of Hybridome. Every corner was monitored by camera, every exit guarded by magicians or shamans with spells at their fingertips which no one could counter unprepared. Connor was well and truly trapped.  
  
He wracked his brains for some idea which would lift him out of this place. He couldn't keep fighting, he didn't want to keep fighting. For the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more than to be alone and peaceful. The prospect of plunging his fist into one demon after another brought him no joy.   
  
Then it hit him. Even in his limited time in this dimension, Connor had learned a thing or two about popular culture, educating himself with the likes of 'West Side Story'. It had been likened to an old play called 'Romeo and Juliet'. The play had been a complete wash-out in comparison to the modern movie and the teenager had understood about every fourth word. One bit he had quite liked was the way Juliet faked her death; it was a pretty novel way to get out of marriage. He might not have a convenient friar with a convenient vial of poison or an antidote but Connor could think of a few, albeit painful, ways of getting out of Hybridome. He just prayed it didn't go wrong.  
  
**********  
  
END OF PART 12  
  
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm sorry to any Gunn, Fred & Cordy fans. I know they get quite short shrift in this story and Gunn has been rather stereotyped but I suppose every writer has favourites to write for. Please, please let me know what you think & I'll try to post the next instalment soon. 


	13. Chapter 13

THE LABOUR AND THE WOUNDS  
  
By Allegra  
  
(See Part 1 for disclaimers etc.)  
  
Author's Note: I have no right to expect anyone to still be interesting in reading this story after being neglected for so long. However, if there are any loyal readers – thank you very, very much for your patience, your reviews & your encouragement. I hope this (albeit short) chapter goes some way to appease you!! Enjoy!  
  
PART 13  
  
Connor was at a loss for what to do. Normally, he would spend the time leading to the fight limbering up and warming his muscles. He rarely, if ever, signed something for a fan. There was something truly abhorrent about the desperate mewling of demons and humans alike wanting his scribblings. Besides, Connor had rarely found the need to sign his name and he was especially wary of pieces of paper thrown under his nose when he didn't have time to read them. Ironically, it was Fax who had warned the teenager about the dangers of signing autographs. He had told a particularly chilling story about one fighter who had unwittingly sold his skin to an illegal salesman and was found the next morning skinned alive. He had gone into deep shock and didn't survive long, just long enough to feel unbelievable agony and teach future fighters a sobering lesson.  
  
It felt like time had almost come to a stand still as Connor waited for one of the establishment's bodyguards to come and fetch him from his room. In the meantime, the boy was left trying to psych himself up for throwing his fight. It was not in his nature to do such a thing; in fact, every fibre of his body fought against it with natural urges. It was going to take considerable will power to override the genetic desire to defend himself and harm anyone who barred his way. Connor honed his mind and fighting skills, reminding himself consciously over and over that this was the only way to get himself out of there.  
  
Finally, the time came. Scuffles could be heard outside his door as the queue of fans cut their losses and headed back in the direction of the central arena. Connor could feel his heart beating stridently in his chest and he felt more nervous than he ever had before. The prospect of winning by losing filled him with more worry than any previous fight had. The teenager moved towards the dressing room mirror and sat down, momentarily catching sight of his own reflection. The face that stared back at him almost startled him.  
  
He had rarely had the opportunity or inclination to examine his own features in a mirror but, suddenly, Connor was fascinated by what he saw reflected back. His face was pale and pinched, his jaw tensed into a harsh line. Green eyes flecked with brown stared challengingly back at him, defying his decision to fail in the ring. Connor searched the face with strange fascination. He found himself moving like a child trying to catch himself out but, of course, the reflection followed his every move perfectly. The teenager sought to find some resemblance to the man he was supposed to call 'father', some sign that perhaps Darla had been mistaken, that he was not Angel's son.  
  
A sharp knock at the door startled him and Connor stood up quickly. "Yeah. I'm ready." He took a couple more deep breaths then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A burly bodyguard grunted acknowledgement then moved ahead of Connor back towards the staff entrance to the Hybridome arena.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Cordelia asked, uncertainty in her voice. The crowds were dispersing rapidly outside Hybridome now. The groups had either purchased their tickets and were entering the arena or they had given up on getting in and were making their way back to whatever hole they had crawled out of. Cordelia didn't like the idea of walking straight into a demon infested, magically guarded 'fight-to-the-death' stadium, but she had been sadly outnumbered. Even Fred had thought it better that they join Wesley and Angel rather than return home or wait all night in the cold desert.  
  
"We're never sure, Cordy. That's why these little trips are always so much fun. You never know what's going to happen next," Gunn noted, dryly. He caught sight of Wesley near the entrance and waved boldly to him. The Englishman did not respond. He could see them clearly but he didn't feel the need to draw lots of unnecessary attention to himself with ridiculous hand greetings. He considered it quite typical that Gunn wouldn't give that a moment's thought.  
  
"Where's Angel?" Cordelia instantly asked.  
  
"He's already inside, getting some seats. Here are your tickets." Wesley handed the small rectangles of card out to his friends.  
  
Fred pulled a face at the graphic fighting picture printed on it. "How did you get hold of these so quickly? From the look of it, plenty of folk went away empty handed."  
  
Wesley steered them towards the door, his eyes darting around for any signs of danger. "Oh, everyone has their price. It looks like Cordelia will have to find us some more paying clients soon though."  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Figures."

* * *

Inside, the dome was buzzing with tense excitement. Demons and humans alike had staked plenty of money on who would win tonight's fight. From the sounds of it, Connor had more than his fair share of interest and Angel couldn't help feeling a moment's fatherly pride towards his son before anxiety and anger set back in once more. Connor had a lot of lessons to learn in plenty of other departments, fighting shouldn't be considered the best skill in the world even if it was pretty useful in their line of business. Yet, the knowledge that his son was exceptional in this dome full of hundreds of demon species was something worthy in itself.  
  
Angel moved swiftly through the crowds to his seat, hoping to go unnoticed. He wasn't sure what sort of game this Fax Torrance was playing but he never would have let the notorious vampire inside the dome unless he knew how to keep him at bay. His momentary anger and frustrated dismissal of Connor and his predicament gone now, Angel knew he could not leave Hybridome without his son. Fighting the demon bodyguards and dome bouncers would be difficult enough, but dragging a reluctant teenager with him would be an almost insurmountable task. Connor's strength was a good match for Angel and the vampire cursed himself for handling their last conversation so poorly. If only he had checked his short temper, Connor might be working with him right now, not against him.  
  
Angel's mind raced with each possible course of action. He rounded up his friends in his head, placing them strategically throughout his plan but none seemed airtight. All involved too much risk. It was in this mode of deep thought that Cordelia found him. "Hey there, big guy," she said, barely looking at him. She leaned over the edge of the balcony rail immediately in front of them. "Geez, I wish I'd had seats like these when I saw Kenny G." She turned to Angel just in time to catch a quizzical expression. "Hey, I was kidding. You're supposed to laugh or at least acknowledge that I wouldn't be seen dead at a Kenny G concert. Of course, that might actually happen after this place." Cordy stopped her babbling for a moment, perturbed by Angel's taciturnity. She leaned back in her seat, trying to block out the plethora of ugly and dangerous looking creatures moving around them to their seats. "Angel, what is it? Did you speak to Connor?"  
  
The vampire nodded, finally shifting his black gaze from their fixed spot to Cordelia. "He hates me...as usual."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true. He's just confused. He doesn't know who or what he wants." Cordelia was running out of ways to reassure Angel that he hadn't repelled his son forever. Every time she spoke to him, he had said or done something to upset Connor again.  
  
"I can't leave him here, Cordy."  
  
"So we won't." Cordelia fixed Angel with her firmest stare. She knew he hated putting her in danger but the whole group cared for Connor, too. Despite his belligerent teenaged behaviour of late, they had all held him in their arms mere months ago as a baby. To Cordy, Wesley and the others, he was an innocent who knew little of the world. Connor was reacting like an abused child, trading honesty and care for anger and distance. Knowing that only made their love for him stronger. He needed to be warmed to the pleasures of this world, to lose some of the cold chill he clung to. "Angel, don't even start," Cordelia chided when Angel opened his mouth to protest. "We didn't come here just to watch a fight. We all came because we wanted to help, because we thought we'd get out hands dirty. You need us, so don't try to say you can do it alone."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The betting booths closed and everyone was warned to take their seats. To the group's surprise, the seated area above the ring was fairly empty. It appeared that most demons lusted after the intimacy and physical jostling of the circle, directly beside the action. Burly bodyguards with tough, rock-like skin were peppered by every exit and within reasonable distance of the hordes, prepared to dive in and break up any fights. Clearly, Hybridome took a harder line on the behaviour of its clientele. This was no seedy bar, order would be maintained at any cost. For most of the demons assembled, there would be no loved ones to note their absence should a bodyguard get carried away. These creatures were not be messed with.  
  
Wesley, Gunn and Fred took their seats mutely beside Angel and Cordelia. Gunn seemed fairly indifferent to the potential dangers of the situation, looking more like he was at a World Wrestling Federation match. Fred was visibly nervous, her eyes darting around the scene, checking that no untoward demons were likely to sit beside her. Wesley's face was a mask of grimness.  
  
There had been a time when his expression would have been similar to Fred's - nervous naivete, yet to experience the true desolation this life one day afforded all of them. Slowly, the horrors which had consumed Angel were taking hold of his companions; Wesley was simply the first to lose the battle. Each and every one of the team had been forced to wrestle with unbelievable and life altering events. Everyone bore a scarred heart but at least they had each other. Wesley had even lost that. The scar on his throat was losing its rosy hue but it was ever visible, just like the pain it represented. Ironically, the child he had once fought so hard to save from death at that hands of his own father was about to watch the same fate clutch at Connor again. Yet, this time he was a helpless spectator.  
  
Gradually, the house lights dimmed to be replaced with the bright white light of the ring. A deep, rasping voice boomed across the auditorium - "Hybridome welcomes you. Money has changed hands, lives have been marked. For some, the fiery depths of hell await them, whether it be a quick journey or a tortured one. For others, victory and a hefty pay cheque awaits. Let the wheel of fortune spin and let the games begin!"  
  
Another voice followed, quieter and more melodic. "Spectators are reminded that touching the contenders is forbidden, throwing items, brawling or general violence. Bouncers are posted at every exit and throughout the building to dispose of anyone seen violating the rules of Hybridome. On behalf of all the staff, we hope you enjoy your evening."  
  
The last babble amongst the audience died down as the ring lights dimmed and returned, launching into a spectrum of colours. Shapes could be seen moving into the centre and it a took a moment for Angel's eyes to adjust to what they were. His heart thumped in his chest, afraid to recognise the shadowy forms limbering up there. He felt his body's tension release momentarily when he realised this was just the opening act - two Sylph demons. They danced like fools around the ring, riling the crowds with their ridiculous behaviour. Abuse was hurled at them and then the roar mounted tenfold as a lurching figure emerged from the centre of the floor. It was a huge creature which Angel could not recall coming across before with talons and teeth the size of a grown man's arm. Its skin was wrinkly and thick like an elephant's but it had eyes of pure coal - hard and dull. It swept around the ring, putting on a show for a moment or two as the Sylphs panicked and clung to the bars, desperately trying to escape their inevitable fate.  
  
The demon caught hold of one poor creature by it's antler, slamming it hard to the floor of the ring, rattling the bars. Like a fly, he squashed it under one bony foot, green blood spurting from the Sylph's mouth. The pressure increased as the victim's cries squealed from its mouth. The demon moved his foot marginally up the Sylph's chest, abruptly terminating the sound and popping an eyeball from it's socket.  
  
Fred looked away, unable to endure the suffering, even in a Sylph demon. She refused to witness the demise of the second creature which had already watched its friend cruelly tortured and murdered. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, it was audible that the antlers were torn the Sylph's head and used to bludgeon it to death.  
  
The crowd cheered, the first drops of blood only bringing the sharks closer for the main course. Cordelia turned to glance at Angel, barely able to control the urge to vomit. It made her sick to her stomach to think this bloody show was intended to be a warm up for what was to come, for Connor. Angel's jaw was set tight and, to the casual observer, appeared indifferent to the carnage below. Yet, to one practised in the art of reading a vampire's mind, Cordelia recognised every nuance in his stance. She knew that if Angel were human, she'd be able to see the whitening of his knuckles.  
  
Screams and cat calls filled the room during the rest of the warm up as several more helpless creatures were thrown to their deaths by various hideous means - disembowelled, dismembered, crushed, beaten, mutilated and tortured for kicks. By the time the main attraction was announced and the contenders' achievements described while the ring was cleaned, it was all Cordelia could do to sit still.  
  
The first contender was called, his statistics flashed up onto the large plasma screens placed around the arena. The huge, hulking creature was led through a gap in the crowds, giving spectators a chance to see him at close quarters. All interest in weighing up Connor's chances were gone from Angel's brain suddenly. He didn't need to wait for the commentator to announce him; he could feel his son's presence, perhaps even a little fear. Now was the time and Angel prayed for Connor's wellbeing. He thought he had weathered the worst of his relationship with his son, but clearly it was just the beginning of the heartache.  
  
END OF PART 13 


End file.
